


Steadfast Defiance of Biology

by preblematic



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Bodyswap, Cheating, F/M, Feelings Jams, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Sibling Incest, Warped Tour 2005, a very important teddy bear, mild telepathy, named Barnabas, this is the version without porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-05-27 19:51:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6297892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preblematic/pseuds/preblematic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about three dudes breaking each other's hearts relentlessly under the summer sun. They're all pretty okay with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not Happening Again

**Author's Note:**

> this is the version of this fic without porn, for the version with porn, [go here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6343711)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic has been in the works for a super long time. I currently have 16k of it written, which i'll post over the next month as i edit it. the ending is still not written so~~

Mikey's first thought upon waking up is that he must have fallen asleep in his glasses again. His next thought is that he really needs to stop doing that; he always ends up with uncomfortable dents in his head and smudges that can't be removed by anything short of witchcraft.

He's in a real bed. There's a warm body pressed up against his side. He remembers that they have a two day window of breathing room right now, before they have to head out again. He and Gerard must have--

Except, he remembers, he and Gerard didn't do anything last night besides scream at each other, and not in the fun, orgasmy way. He and Gerard had gotten into a fight--fuck it had been about all the people flirting with Mikey. The whole tour has a break, so obviously people were socializing, congregated outside and inside busses, drinking and smoking, trading stories and stashes.

Gerard had gotten pissy about it, like he sometimes did. Normally Mikey would have just drunk, said no to everyone who propositioned him, and hung out with Gerard until they felt like leaving, going to the rooms they could afford now, but he'd been an idiot last night.

He’d really wanted to find somebody, a girl, something casual, a nice change of pace, and Gerard didn't want him to. Mikey had even suggested the old fallback of, “Well you can come, too,” to no avail. So Mikey had stayed and drank and brooded and steadily gotten more pissed at his brother.

They'd gotten into a shouting match once they got to the hotel, and, thinking back on it, he really hopes no one had overheard it, or at least didn't understand what it meant. Mikey had been too out of it to remember discretion. He had called Gerard a perverted motherfucker, thrown every venomous word he could think of at his brother. Fuck. He'd fucked up. He knew how easy it was for this whole thing to make Gerard spiral out of control again, and he still hadn't managed to keep his goddamn mouth shut.

And then he'd gone and he'd--Frank had been the first person he ran into after he'd stormed away from Gerard, out into the hallways of the hotel, and Mikey hadn’t cared that he had wanted a girl, had been just drunk enough and mad at Gerard enough that it seemed like the best idea in the world to fist his hand in Frank's shirt and kiss him full on the mouth.

He doesn't remember whose room they went to or who they must have kicked out--they had three rooms between the five of them, and Mikey had thought Bob was the one rooming alone. Mikey had totally fallen into the cliche of 'I slept with your best friend.'

He's glad that today is a free day. It means he can take his time getting back to the bus. Which translates to mean that he can hide from his problems for as long as possible. Mikey sighs and reaches up to take his glasses off, but he only succeeds in hitting himself in the face. He's not wearing glasses. He blinks; the world stays in focus.

"I'm cured!" he exclaims, only it doesn't come out in his voice. He slaps a hand over his mouth in shock; it's not his hand. It's covered in familiar tattoos. The person in bed next to him shifts.

Mikey looks over, both expecting and dreading what he's going to see. Sure enough, his own face is smushed up against his shoulder, which he now knows to be Frank's shoulder. Looks like he didn't fall asleep in his glasses after all. Whoopdeedoo.

"Fuck," he breathes. He slumps his head back against the pillow and stares at the ceiling for a moment. He stretches the hand that Frank--Mikey?--isn't lying on out in front of him and flexes it. It's such a surreal feeling to see the tattoos respond to him. He pinches himself; he doesn't wake up.

He contemplates if he should wake Frankie up. He probably should. They need to discuss this.  Whatever _this_ is.

Mikey has already decided that they're not telling the other guys. No way. Because Gerard would try to suss out the cause, and that, inevitably, would lead to him finding out about this, about how Frank now knows the noises Mikey makes when he rides a dick. It would destroy him.

He grinds the palm of his--Frank's?--hand into his--Franks???--eyes to dispel the thoughts. Gerard is not going to find out. Mikey is going too make sure of that. Mikey is going to threaten Frank with castration, torture, and death if he so much as mentions his name and sex in the same conversation.

With a vague script in his head, Mikey bites the bullet and starts to wake Frank. He starts by saying his name a few times. When that doesn't work, he switches to poking him incessantly in the face. When one finger accidentally goes up his nose, Frank snorts--and Mikey's struck by how unattractive his own face looks when he does that--and opens his--Mikey's??????--eyes.

When he sees his own face staring back at him, his eyes widen, and then he squints because Mikey's eyes suck. "What the fuck," Frank says. "What. The. Fuck." God, it's so weird to hear his own voice like that. Secretly, Mikey is relieved that it _is_ Frank in his body. A small part of him had been worried that he was actually Frank and had just lost his mind.

"So, uh, I think we pissed off the universe," Mikey supplies. His own hand comes up and starts pawing at his face. "Dude, what the fuck?"

"This is such a trip," Frank answers. He pinches Mikey's cheek.

"Ow! Dude, your nerves _do_ work," Mikey assures him. He swats the hand away from his face. “I can't believe I fucked you--that's never happening again, by the way.”

Frank ignores him. "We have to tell the others!" He says, sounding much too excited for Mikey's taste.

"No! We don't!" Mikey says, grabbing Frank's wrist as he goes to get out of the bed.

"Why not?" Frank asks. Before Mikey can answer, Frank switches gears," Dude, did you know you're blind?" he asks, leaning in close to Mikey's face.

"Hold on, let me find my glasses," Mikey says. He carefully climbs out of the bed and searches for his glasses, being extra careful not to step on anything. He finds them on the floor beside the nightstand, like he'd tried to put them on the table but missed. He hands them to Frank.

Frank puts them on like they might bite him. "Oh god," he says. "These are filthy, how do you live?" Mikey shrugs.

Frank takes the glasses and cleans then with the bed sheet as best he can; they are only marginally improved. He looks his body up and down from angles he’s never been able to see before. This is weird, and the fact that he’s getting kind of turned on by it is probably weirder. “So, uh,” he says,” you wanna make out with yourself?”

Mikey’s head snaps toward Frank. “ I--” he stutters out. He shouldn't; he _really_ shouldn't. Mikey’s always been a weak man. “Fuck yes.” Mikey scrambles into his lap, and he’s satisfied by how well he fits there. He’s always found himself to fit awkwardly in this position; Frank’s body is just the right size.

Frank's never kissed himself before, obviously. It's surprisingly like kissing anyone else. Mikey is pushy and bites at his lips in a way he's not used to; the list of guys that Frank has fucked isn't very long. Mikey’s rough. He pulls Frank’s hair and bites at every opportunity. If he just kisses harder, pulls more, digs his nails into Frank’s shoulder at just the right angle, then all his problems will just go away. He’s sure of it.

Frank grab’s Mikey’s--¿Frank’s?--ass and pulls his hips down. The hotel sheet is doing absolutely nothing to disguise the fact that Frank is totally up for round two. Mikey groans and breaks the kiss.

He leans his forehead against Frank’s. ”Fuck I said we wouldn't do this again,” he pants.

“To be fair,” Frank says,” you said we wouldn't _fuck_ again.” Mikey exercises a moment of rare self control and climbs off of Frank. Frank sighs, and Mikey starts looking for his clothes.

"And that's another thing,” Mikey says,” do you wanna talk about how you fucked me last night or no?" he asks, rifling through the clothes on the floor. "Are these yours or mine?" he holds up a pair of boxers.

"Mine," Frank answers. Mikey puts them on. "I dunno, do you wanna talk about it?" He takes the shirt Mikey hands him and goes to put it on. "Why are you so goddamn long?" he says, getting tangled in the fabric and knocking his glasses askew.

"That's what your mom said," Mikey snaps back. He finds pants on the floor. "It's not going to happen again,” he repeats, telling himself as much as Frank. His jeans and Frank's jeans look exactly the same, so it's not until he's got four inches of extra fabric hanging off his feet that he realizes these are his pants. So he can't wear them. Man, this is confusing.

"Yeah, okay," Frank answers.

"And whatever you do, don't tell Gerard," Mikey warns.

"Dude, I'm not gonna tell your big brother I fucked your ass, which, by the way, I did a great fucking job. You feel great this morning, if you were wondering." Mikey rolls his eyes.

Frank gets out of bed and joins Mikey by the clothes pile. "So, why are we being so calm about this?" he asks as Mikey hands him his--Mikey's--pants. "It seems like we should be, I dunno, flipping some shit or something."

"That's unsanitary," Mikey replies; Frank elbows him. Mikey does a cursory search for their socks before giving it up as a lost cause. "I dunno, man. I figure it'll sort itself out, right? This kind of shit has to have a time limit."

"So we just wait it out?"

"That's my plan, yeah."

"Well you're the nerd," Frank concedes with a shrug.

Frank succeeds in the sock search where Mikey failed, and after they both have their shoes on Mikey knows he's running out of time to think up excuses. "So why aren't we telling Gee and Ray?" Frank asks, as if on cue.

"Uh," Mikey stalls,"because we don't want them to know about us fucking?" He hopes Frank can't hear the question mark on the end of that.

"How would they find out from this?"

"Because something tells me that's what caused it; so it's bound to come up eventually." Man, Mikey's glad he's a great liar.

"Right,” Frank says skeptically, but he leaves it.

\----

"God it's so weird to see the world from down here."

"Fuck you, mikeyway," Frank shoots back.

"No seriously," Mikey presses," I'm starting to understand you a little bit more. I'd go crazy if I had to look up at everyone too."

"You're lucky that your antelope legs take all my concentration to maneuver, or I would beat your shit right now." As if to illustrate his point, Frankie stumbles in his awkward gait. "Seriously why are your limbs so hard to control?"

Mikey wants to say that it's probably all the drugs. He doesn't."Uh, I'm in your body," he reminds him instead. "You'd really only be hurting yourself." Frank opens his mouth to retort, but slowly closes it again when he can't think of anything. They enter the hotel elevator in silence.

They’re ten feet away from the bus when Mikey sighs and stops walking. He never claimed to be good at facing his problems. Frank looks over at the sound and raises an eyebrow. It's something that he knows he does all the time, and yet it's also the most expressive that Mikey's ever seen his own face. 'What's on the inside' and all that.

"'S'up, dude?" Frank asks.

"Listen, so, there's--if you're gonna be me," he starts. Frank nods, understanding that this is something very important. "If you're gonna be me and want to still be friends with me when this is all over and also not break Gerard's dramatic little heart, I need to tell you something."

"Shit dude," Frank said," are you about to drop some kind of brotherly secret on me? Some sibling knowledge? Do you to have a bro code I need to be aware of? Some kind of sacred rules?"

"Dude, calm down," Mikey says, resting a hand on Frank's shoulder. Motherfucker's bouncing. Mikey has to reach up to do it, and that's the trippiest thing. "How much did being an only child fuck up your head?"

"How much did being the youngest fuck up yours?" Frank jokes back. Mikey forces a laugh; if only he knew. Well, he was about to anyway.

"Listen just--" Frank leans forward, Mikey's own face and eyes forming a familiar yet foreign show of interest. "Just don't be alone with him until this is all over," Mikey finishes. It's just--it's not only his secret to tell; he'll just have to do his best to keep it.

Frank blinks back at him slowly. "Uh, okay? How, exactly? I mean I can try, but you two are basically conjoined twins."

"Listen just--we got into a fight last night." Mikey shoves his hands in the pockets of Frankie's jeans and stares at the sidewalk. He scuffs his shoe against the ground like a six year old forced to apologize. He still feels like shit about it. "A real fight, a screaming-and-bringing-shit-up-from-our-childhoods fight."

"Oh fuck," Frank whispers.

"Yeah," Mikey agrees. "And if I know Gee--" If he knows his brother, then as soon as Gerard sees him--or his body anyway--he's going to drag him off for a feelings jam and makeup sex. And while Mikey is all for fixing what he did last night; he doesn't think that scaring Frank away from the band will really help.

"If I know Gee he's gonna want to talk about it," Mikey settles on. "And I--don't feel comfortable with you being my bodysnatcher stand-in for a fight with my brother, sorry." He tries to keep his tone light, it's surprisingly easy with Frank's voice.

Frank shrugs. "Fair enough," he agrees.

\---

"We've arrived!" Frank exclaims, clambering his way up the bus steps. He ends up with is front half sprawled on the floor and his feet hanging off the bus. Mikey climbs over him, struggling with his suddenly shorter limbs. They need to have a talk about staying in character.

"Goddamn, are you two still drunk," Bob asks from the couch.

"Where have you been?" Ray asks at the same time.

"We've been out," Mikey answers.

Ray snorts. "Whatever. Hey. Mikey," Mikey raises his eyebrows in acknowledgement; Frank finally manages to scramble to his feet.

"And not drunk!" Frank says," Hungover! I'm gonna drink a gallon of water and pass out." He fills the largest glass they have with water and starts to down it.

Ray raises his eyebrows at Mikey and gestures to Frank in a what-is-this motion. "Uh, Mikey?"he tries again. Frank keeps chugging. " Mike-y, Mikey Way," Ray tries again, snapping his fingers in Frank's direction.

Mikey, in an effort to save their entire plan, whacks Frank in the arm. He chokes and splutters. "Mikey," he says, gesturing his head slightly towards Ray and Bob, who are looking at each other in confusion," Ray is talking to you."

Frank looks over at Ray. "Right, me. Mikey. Mikey Way. Michael James Way, brother of Gerard Way, that is me." The other three men stare at him. Frank coughs. "Uh, yes?"

"Right," Ray says," speaking of your brother, he was freaking out like none other last night. He came to our room in hysterics--

“I thought he'd fallen off the wagon,” Bob cuts in,” that bad.” Ray nods in solemn agreement.

“He's in the bunks right now; you should really go talk to him."

Frank and Mikey exchange panicked looks and a quick series of unhelpful facial expressions. "Uh," Frank says. "Yeah, I should--do that. Yes."

"A nap sounds like a fucking great plan," Mikey pipes up. "I'm gonna steal that, uh, plan." He picks his way across the room toward the bunks. He awkwardly fingerguns as he goes through the door.

Frank is left alone with Ray and Bob. "So what's up with you two?" Ray asks," You just disappeared last night."

"Uh, I should probably go check on Gerard, my brother. My brother Gerard," Frank trails off. "I'm gonna--go do that." He hurries away into the bunk area.

Gerard is awake and talking to Mikey-Frank. He perks up when he sees Frank-Mikey. Mikey looks terrified.

"Hey!" Gerard calls to Frank. "Mikes, I uh," he trails off, eyes darting to Mikey. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Frank gulps and looks to Mikey for help. Mikey shrugs. He goes to climb into his bunk, realizes it’s his bunk, and climbs into Frank's bunk. He's going to eaves drop like a motherfucker and try to run damage control.

Gerard motions Frank over toward him; Frank reluctantly goes. "Hey," Gerard says in a hushed tone. He reaches out and rests a hand gently on Frank's arm. He runs his thumb in little circles on his shoulder. Frank is suddenly uncomfortable.

"Listen," Gerard continues," I know I was unreasonable last night, and--"

"I don't want to talk about this right now," Frank says quickly. Gerard's face falls. Frank continues. "I feel like shit right now. I just want to sleep for a while."

"Oh," Gerard says, looking down dejectedly. "Okay, Mikes. We'll talk later though?"

"Uh, we'll see." In lieu of an answer, Gerard pulls the curtain closed and rolls over in his bunk to face the wall. Frank slumps.

Mikey's (Frank's) head pops out of the bunk curtains. He raises his eyebrows. Frank shrugs helplessly and motions toward the closed bunk. Mikey waves Frank over to him.

"What happened?" Mikey asks quietly.

"I was evasive and standoffish?" Frank answers at the same volume. "I don't know how to be you; you won't even tell me what the fight was about."

"I can't!" Mikey insists, still keeping his voice low enough to not be heard over the ambient bus noise. "It's--I really can't, Frankie. I really can't." He looks at Frank imploringly. "Just, tell him that I'm sorry, okay? Tell him I'm sorry."

Frank's not really sure what to do in this situation. He wants to give Mikey a hug, but he's not sure whether or not hugging his own body would finally make this Too Weird. He settles on saying,"Okay, dude," and doing some sort of comforting head pat.

"Get the fuck off," Mikey says, pushing Frank's (Mikey's) hand away with a smile. Frank sticks his tongue out at him. "I was serious about crashing for a couple hours," Mikey adds.

"Is that you telling me to fuck off?", Frank asks.

"Pretty much, yeah." Mikey rolls onto his back and stares at the bunk ceiling. "And Frankie? Tell him I'm sorry."

"I will, mikeyway."

\----

Frank can't sleep. He cannot. He's tried everything from counting sheep to progressive muscle relaxation. He can't sleep. He doesn't know what time it is; there are no windows in the bunk area. They're still driving.

He found a sudoku book in one corner of the bunk, piled with half a dozen pill bottles and a ratty teddy bear in a pirate’s hat. He's been busying himself with that. Not with actually playing sudoku, no, he's not ready for that, but Mikey seems to have invented his own rules, and Frank's spent the last however long trying to figure them out.

He's startled out of his contemplation of two nines in the same column by a scream of his own name followed by a thud. He sits straight up and whacks his head on the bunk ceiling. He curses and sticks his head out of the bunk to investigate.

"Frankie what the fuck?!" Comes Ray's voice out of his own bunk.

"Sorry!" Mikey exclaims. "Uh, nightmare," is his weak explanation.

"Drink some warm milk and go the fuck back to sleep," Bob demands.

Mikey makes a noncommittal noise. Frank hears him moving around in the aisle. Moments later, the curtain to Frank's (Mikey's) bunk is pulled open, and his own face is staring at him in the darkness. It's unnerving.

"Frankie!" Mikey hisses, quiet yet panicked. "I can't play guitar!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll hopefully update this fic regularly. [ follow my tumblr to get updates and send me prompts.](http://preblematic.tumblr.com/)


	2. Maybe Once More

"Okay, shit, okay, so we'll figure this out,"Frank declares, pacing back and forth in the small floorspace. "We'll--I'll give you lessons or something or--"

"Frankie," Mikey says from the couch,"breathe, okay? Breathe. And stop pacing!"

Frank slumps down next to Mikey. "I want my guitar," he says miserably. Everything makes more sense with her in his hands. But then, she wouldn’t be in  _ his _ hands, anyway. He starts to panic.

"What if this doesn't fix itself?" he says. "What if we're stuck like this forever? What if I never get to play the guitar again? What if we have to break up the band? What if--"

Mikey rests a hand on Frank's shoulder and snaps him out of his panic. "Frank, Frankie," he says," it'll be alright."

"You don't know that!" Frank insists, voice rising. He doesn't know what's happening, he can't shake this fear. This thought that everything he's ever worked for is going to come crumbling down around them.

They'll never switch back. Either Mikey will have to learn guitar, or they'll have to publicly switch roles. Frank loves his guitar; he can't give her up. They'll have to break up the band. Gerard will find out that Frank slept with his baby brother and hunt him down, but Frank will still be in Mikey's body so Gerard will have to kill his own brother, and Frank will never get to fuck Gerard. Because Frank will be  _ dead _ . He can't breathe.

"What's happening?" he asks Mikey, because that seems the logical thing to do. He can't breathe! He doesn't want Gerard to kill him; he doesn't want Gerard to have to kill him. Angry fans will come after him for breaking up their favorite band. Frank starts crying.

"I'm sorry!" he says, curling in on himself. "I'm sorry I ruined everything." He's breathing in great panting gasps, babbling nonsense at lightspeeds, sobbing into his jeans.

"Frankie," Mikey says softly, he slowly rests a hand on Franks shoulder. "Frankie I think you're having a panic attack." That just makes Frank heave faster.

"Shh, shh, it's okay," Mikey says. "Frank, Frankie, look at me, can you do that? Can you look at me?"

Frank brings watery eyes up to his own face. "Good that's good that's fine. I need you to breathe for me, okay?" Frank's sporadic breaths increase in speed. "No not like that! Deep breaths, here, like this." He takes a deep, slow breath in example; Frank mimics him.

"Good that's good, keep doing that,' Mikey instructs. "I need you to stay quiet, too, or you'll wake everyone up, again."

Frank says nothing in answer, but leans heavily against Mikey’s side. Mikey wraps a short arm around his own thin shoulders, and they sit there for a long while, breathing deep breaths in sync. Frank rests his head on Mikey's shoulder; Mikey kisses his hair. It seems like the right thing to do.

"You did it the first time,” are Frank's first words after the long silence.

"Did what?" Mikey asks.

"You told me not to wake everyone up again, but you did it the first time!"

Mikey takes a moment to process this. "Yeah I did," he admits. "I freaked out a little bit and landed on the floor, but that's beside the point. This'll all work out, okay?” He squeezes Frank's shoulder comfortingly. “Bodyswaps are never permanent."

"Where are you getting this information from?" Franks demands.

"Everyone would be pissed!" Mikey says, which offers Frank no explanation. "It's just unreasonable. No, a bodyswap lasts for a single story arc, maybe two at the most."

"Oh my god, are you using comic book logic on this situation?" Frank demands. Mikey shrugs. "I can't believe you!"

"Hey, it's the best reference we have. Unless we ate some sketchy fortune cookies and forgot about it."

Frank groans, burying his face in his hands. "You did not just reference Freaky Friday," he says. Mikey shrugs.

"So what just happened to me?" Frank asks next. "I felt like I was having a heart attack and an asthma attack at the same time."

"It was a panic attack I think," Mikey says. "I get them all the time."

"I've never gotten one!" Frank says.

"Well congrats on that," Mikey says. "Welcome to the club, I guess."

"It's a shitty club."

"I agree."

"Why do you think I suddenly~?"

"I don't know," Mikey answers. "Except maybe--" he looks up at Frank quizzically," brains are physical, right?"

"Uh, yeah, last time I checked."

"Well," Mikey says," emotions are just chemical reactions. Maybe--maybe all my fucked up brain wiring didn't, uh, follow me?"

"Oh shit," Franks says.

"I guess we just wait and see?" Mikey offers.

"Yeah, we seem to be doing a lot of that."

\----

It's safe to say that Gerard is pissed off.Mikey had woken up everyone on the bus last night by screaming, which was doubly annoying for Gerard because he had just gotten back to sleep after Frank woke everyone up by screaming. When he tried to see what was wrong--talk to Mikey, give him a hug, be his goddamn  _ brother _ \--Mikey wouldn't speak to him. He wouldn't speak to anyone except Frank. Frank’s been distant. His answer was evasive, panicked when Gerard tried to ask what was going on with him and Mikey.

This morning, Mikey had seen Gerard first thing, and he’d screamed and run to lock himself in the bathroom. Gerard had tried to talk to him, but, again, Mikey wouldn’t speak to anyone but Frank. Frank apologized profusely, especially to Gerard, and kicked everyone else off the bus not long after. It's been a few hours; Gerard hasn't seen Mikey since then.

He’s following Ray around; Ray and Bob are hanging out with Patrick, and Patrick is hanging out with Pete, and Pete is hanging out with Travie. Thus, by extension, Gerard could possibly say that he is hanging out with Patrick and Pete and Travie, but really he's just sitting on the ground, smoking and brooding.

The air is less acrid down here. Smelling more of cigarettes and tire rubber than gasoline and BO. The lesser of two evils is still evil, unfortunately.

There's a noise next to him, and he looks over. Pete Wentz has sat next to him for god knows what reason. They're really not on good speaking terms right now. He feels for the guy, really. Gerard's been in love with Mikey for years, and he’s fallen in and out of love with Frank every three months since he’s known the guy. He knows this isn’t Pete's fault.

That being said, he's a little pissed at Mikey for allowing it. He keeps telling Gerard that Pete knows it's not going to last, but Pete's face keeps telling Gerard that he thinks if he wishes hard enough then he and Mikey will ride off into the sunset on a tour bus. Maybe they can get a dog and a picket fence and adopt 2.5 kids and live happily ever fucking after without Gerard anywhere near them.

Gerard's been milking the big brother act for all it's worth, so Pete  _ has _ to know that Gerard's not the most friendly toward him right now. Gerard blows the smoke in his lungs out into Pete's face, just in case the memo hadn't gotten to him yet. Pete coughs. Gerard smiles almost imperceptibly. "What do you want, Wentz?" he asks. "Mikey's--busy right now."

"Oh, I know," Pete says. Gerard is surprised. “Ray told me he and Frank have cooked something up."

Gerard spares a moment to silently thank god for Ray Toro. Whatever is happening with Mikey and Frank right now, Pete does not need to know. "Then why are you here?"

"Maybe I just wanna talk to you, ever think of that?" Gerard glares. Pete raises his hands in surrender. "Okay, you caught me. I'm a nosy motherfucker; I know you and Mikes--"

"Don't call him that."

"--got into a fight last night." Gerard's comment goes ignored. "And I wanted to know what could make the Way brothers scream at each other like angry spouses."

Gerard snorts. If only Pete knew how close he was hitting. "What makes you think that I'd tell you?" he asks. "Did you miss the part where I don't like you very much right now?”

"Just--it wasn't me, right?" Pete asks. "Please tell me it wasn't me, because, I promise, if this whole--thing," he makes a vague hand gesture," is fucking with you and Mikey's relationship, I'll end it. Full stop. No pining no self destruction, none of my shit."

Gerard raises an eyebrow. He can feel the heat of his cigarette getting closer and closer to his fingers; he lets it burn. "Why would you care?" he asks.

"Have you ever seen something," Pete starts, and Gerard knows he's in for some pure, unpasteurized Wentz Wisdom© now," like in a store, or met someone, and you know--you know you could have it. You could have them. You could pull it out of its glass display or their safety net and have them. They're--it's everything you've ever wanted, and you--you can have it.

"But you know that if you do you're going to break it." Pete tucks his knees up against his chest and stares ahead. Gerard is suddenly uncomfortable. " You're clumsy. You broke grandma's vase when you were thirteen and should've known better. You broke that girl's heart when you were twenty three and didn't care. You break things, and sooner or later you have to take it to be fixed, but sometimes no one knows how to fix them." He goes quiet," You have to throw them out.

"So you start checking, making sure--making sure someone can fix all the damage you leave in your massive fucking wake. So the last thing you want to do," he rests the side of his head on his knees and looks at Gerard," is shoot the repairman."

Gerard thinks for a moment, deciphers Pete’s rambling. He takes the last drag off his cigarette and lets it sit in his lungs for a moment. He meditates on how much of an asshole he wants to be. He could solve The Pete Problem right here, right now. There would probably be a few suspicious songs on Fall Out Boy's next album, but beyond that, it would be over. Mikey certainly wouldn't go after Pete.

He watches the smoke make its way up into the clouds and slumps back against the bus tire behind him. He's an asshole, but he's not a liar. "Pete," he says, staring up at the summer sky," as much as I'd like to take you up on that convoluted offer, it wasn't about you. Well--it was sort of about you in the sense that I maybe called him a cock chasing drug whore, but that's the closest it came." He shrugs and snubs out his cigarette on the tire rim.

"Dude, harsh," Pete says.

"Whatever, he deserved it," Gerard says. "He probably doesn't remember anyway." He thinks this will be the end of it, that Pete will leave him alone now, but Pete just remains sitting silently next to Gerard for the next few minutes.

"I really do like him," he says eventually. "Mikey, he--he gets me like a lot of people don't. We're broken the same way, we're both falling apart and trying to tape ourselves together with chewing gum and pills. Except--"

"Except  _ you _ take  _ your _ pills, and don't wash them down with booze," Gerard finishes.

"Yeah."

\----

Frank has been hiding in the bathroom. Human contact seems to trick his eyes into seeing things. People don’t look like people. He saw Gerard this morning, or he’s pretty sure it was Gerard. Their face was melting, twisting. He’d screamed, and the world had gone back to normal, until he saw Ray, and the whole process started again.

That was how he’d ended up locking himself in the bathroom. Mikey’s glasses are on the counter; frank had taken them off so he could grind the palms of his hands into his eye sockets, see sparks behind his eyelids. It hadn't helped much. 

Frank startles when there's knock on the door. "Frankie? I sent them all away, okay? I'm sorry if this is hard, but I need to to come to me."

Frank has been digging his nails into his neck over and over and over and over and over, to ground him, and it didn't hurt until he stopped. So he starts again. He has to pull himself off the floor with one hand on the counter, but there’s a shadow of a man looming over the counter. He pulls his hand back like he's been burned and crawls to the door.

He opens it, and Mikey is standing there, looking thankfully, blessedly normal and human. "Mikey, Mikey," his free hand comes out to clutch desperately at Mikey's wrists," I don't know what's wrong with me, fuck--with you. I--"

"It's okay Frankie, they're gone now," Mikey says. "It's okay." He shifts to be holding Frank's hands and helps him up, before leading him into the front area.

Frank is hesitant to let go of Mikey's hands, but Mikey convinces him. When he does, Frank holds one shaking hand out in front of himself and examines it.

"I feel like I'm being nailed to a cross," he says," by my skull." He wraps his arms tightly around himself, still shaking. He doesn't notice that stubby fingernails are leaving angry red crescents in his biceps until Mikey gently pulls a hand away and hold it in his own.

"Frankie," Mikey says," Frankie look at me." Frank does, and it's such a surreal experience to be staring down at his own face. "I think you're--I'm--my body is crashing," Mikey finally spits out," and it's probably manic, do you understand?"

Frank really doesn't. All his health problems were in his guts and his lungs; this is new territory for him. He nods anyway.

"Okay, good. Sit down." Mikey guides Frank to sit on the couch.

“No, no, Mikey, I can't!” Frank insists, looking at the couch in fear. He shakes his head firmly.

“Why not? What’s wrong?” There’s a spider on the couch. Frank can see it scuttling around. It's huge and black and hairy. Frank points at it, unsure how Mikey is missing it. 

Mikey stares blankly at the spot Frank points to. “Frankie, what?” he asks, looking back to Frank’s face. He’s clearly terrified of something. “Wait, fuck, you're hallucinating, aren't you? Don’t answer that of course you are.”

The spider moves again, coming forward on the couch. Frank can see it so clearly, see the way its fangs twitch, see its eyes move. It's such a contrast to everything around it, which is blurry and out of focus. Frank thinks maybe that means it can't be real. 

“Frankie,” Mikey says. Frank turns to look at him, shooting furtive glances toward the couch. He doesn't want the spider to move without him knowing. Mikey grabs one of Frank’s--his own--large hands in both of his own. “Listen, stay here for a minute. I'll be right back; I'm going to fix this." Mikey couldn't say why he does it, but he presses a kiss to Frank's knuckles before he leaves. It seems like the right thing to do.

Mikey disappears into the bunk area for a few moments. Frank has the fleeting thought that he's walked straight out of existence, but Frank's familiar, tattooed body is back before the terror of that thought can sink in.

"Take these," Mikey tells Frank. He presses two different colored pills into his own hand (God that's weird to think), and offers a bottle of something to swallow them with.

"Why? Where did you get these?" Frank asks. He starts examining the little tablets, his hand is shaking so badly that he almost drops them. "Jesus, Mikey, is this--"

"Don't ask questions just take them," Mikey answers. "The last dose is wearing off, and we don't have time for me to talk you through a comedown."

Frank looks from his shaking hand to Mikey's (his own) face. "You're doing worse than we thought," he says. "Oh, Mikey--"

"I've been holding it together!" Mikey snaps. "Now take the damn pills and teach me guitar!"

"Fine,asshole," Frank says, still joking at a time like this. "Should I really be taking these with alcohol?" Mikey gives him A Look that is somehow simultaneously more and less threatening on his own face. Frank takes the pills.

"Okay now just, stand there and wait, okay? Should feel better soon." He slumps down on the couch. Frank jerks forward instinctively, wants to warn Mikey about the arachnid bent on killing them all, but Mikey can’t see it. It’s not real. It can’t be real. Frank hopes it’s not real.

Frank slumps down on the floor, sits cross legged and curled in on himself, head in his hands. Mikey moves to settle on the floor beside him, pets the back of his neck soothingly. They sit like that, silent save for their breathing, for twenty minutes, until Frank can feel everything start to kick in.

"How do you live like this?" he asks a few moments later. His head has stopped racing, and the furniture isn't pulsating anymore. He feels warm and fuzzy and a little bit disturbed under it all.

"Barely," is Mikey's answer. That makes Frank sad. It makes him so sad; Mikey doesn't deserve this. He throws his noodly arms around Mikey and hugs him close.

"You're good," he tells Mikey. He pats him on the head, and Mikey looks up at him like he doesn't know what to do with four extra inches of Frank to contend with. Frank kisses him, because it seems like the right thing to do.

Mikey kisses back. He grounds himself with hands on Frank's hips and strains up into the kiss. Frank threads a hand through Mikey’s hair and cups Mikey's face with the other.

Mikey puts his hands on Frank's (Mikey's) shoulders and pushes him away. "What the fuck are we doing?" Mikey asks. Frank is comforted by the plural. We--he's not alone in this.

"I don't know," he admits. He kisses Mikey again. This time it's just because he wants to. He got a taste of what he wants, and now he can't stop.

Mikey rolls with it for a minute before he pushes Frank away again. "Frankie, we can't," he insists. "I can't. There's too much already with Pete and Gee and--" He stops himself.

"I'm not Pete," Frank says. "I'm not looking for anything." That’s a lie. That’s the biggest lie Frank’s ever told. He would drop anything and everything in a heartbeat to be with Mikey, and he’d do the same for Gee. All they’d have to do is ask, but they never have.

He hugs Mikey tighter. "This is a totally platonic and friendly hug meant to make up for all the time I spent not noticing how shitty your life is right now." He's lying through his teeth.

"Right, and kissing me full on the mouth was what exactly?"

"Platonic might have been the wrong word there," Frank admits. He's still sitting in Mikey’s lap, and he can  _ feel  _ the hard-on trying to make itself known. He wants it, wants it bad. “What's the word for I really wanna fuck you?” He reaches down and rests a hand against the slight bulge in Mikey’s pants.

“H-horny,” Mikey answers. He does his best not to arch his hips up into Frank’s hand. He fails.

\----

They end up fucking on the bus floor, don’t even have the decency or initiative to move to the bunks. It is  _ amazing,  _ and Mikey feels terrible about it. His ass has unidentified carpet dirt on it, and his jaw aches in the best possible way and he wants to  _ shoot himself.  _

Frank notices. Mikey’s sour mood is infectious. “Dude,” Frank says, once Mikey comes back from disposing of the evidence,” you need to calm down. I think I can actually  _ feel  _ your black cloud consuming me. What’s up?” 

“We shouldn’t have done that,” Mikey says earnestly. “I feel like such a shitty human being.”

Frank pulls Mikey onto the couch next to him. “C’mon,” he says,” it's not like Pete was under any delusions that you were exclusive.” He laughs. “Can you imagine? Mikey Way in an exclusive relationship. Might be the best joke I’ve ever told.”

Mikey’s frown deepens. “Wow, you turn into a real cunt after sex,” Mikey says. Frank’s mouth drops open in shock.

“I--what?” Frank asks in confusion. He’s suddenly overcome with disgust for himself, but he doesn’t know why. “Dude, did I touch some sort of nerve? Did I do something I shouldn't have?”

Mikey is silent for a moment. He really can't explain this one. “Never mind,” he shrugs it off, with some effort. “Put some fucking clothes on. I'm gonna go get our instruments, and we're going to actually deal with what we need to, okay?"

"Okay," Frank agrees, still puzzled. He makes a mental note to investigate later.

“Seriously, no more fucking.”

“No more fucking,” Frank echoes.

Mikey climbs off the bus and comes back a few minutes later with his bass and Frank's guitar. He sets his bass carefully against the side of the couch and hands frank his guitar.

"Teach me your ways, oh masterful guitar one," he says, sitting next to Frank.

Frank snorts and stands up. "I can't fucking play sitting down," he says, hooking the strap over his head. The guitar falls to about his belly button."Goddamn noodle ass stick-twig motherfucking scarecrow man!" Frank curses as he adjusts the strap.

"Having some problems there?" Mikey asks.

"You shut the fuck up. Jesus Christ your hands are giant--how do you play anything? This is horrible. Why are your arms so long."

"Basses have longer necks," Mikey says," it works out."

"'Basses have longer necks,'" Frank mimics mockingly. "Fuck you, I want my guitar body back."

"Just show me how to play it, Frank."

"Patience! This kind of genius takes years."

"We're playing, like, tomorrow."

"Shit."

~~~~

The thing is, Mikey had tried. He had tried so hard for Gee. The two of them have been fucking since Mikey was old enough to get accidentally roped into a threesome, but they’d never really been a couple. Both of them had had girlfriends, and both of them had had casual hookups. Sometimes they'd both sleep with the same person at the same time, because it reminded them of the first time but was always better.

One day, before they moved out, while they were still planning where to look at apartments and how far from Mikey’s work they could afford to be, Gerard had knocked on the frame of Mikey’s open door with a serious look on his face. He’d sat down on Mikey's bed and asked, expression so hopeful, if, maybe, after they moved out, they could be together for real. Mikey had felt kind of sick to his stomach; he'd always been shit at relationships. But he wanted to make Gerard happy, so he had agreed.

When they finally did both move out; when they didn’t have to sneak into each other’s rooms in the dead of night, didn't have to date for appearances; when they weren’t pressed for time and privacy anymore; when they could finally sit on the couch and watch a movie with Mikey’s head in Gerard’s lap, laze around in bed on weekends and come three times before breakfast; when they could finally just  _ exist _ together in peace, Mikey tried. He tried for Gerard, because he loved him.

He woke up in the mornings and kissed Gerard, and they both had horribly unhealthy breakfasts in their tiny kitchen. He went to work, and when people flirted with him he didn’t flirt back. He  _ tried;  _ he lasted three months. 

The girl was cute, short with three different colors in her hair, and Mikey was still scared to tell anyone he had a boyfriend in case he met them again. (Mikey has a medical diagnoses that entitles him to be fucking paranoid.) Her name was Mindy, but she liked to go by Mimi. 

They fucked at her place; Mikey texted Gerard, told him some guys from Eyeball were hanging out, told him he might be home late. Gerard said okay, said thanks for letting him know, said he might be asleep when Mikey got home, said he loved him. Mikey didn’t check his phone until he was on the way home, swearing to himself that he wouldn’t do it again. 

He did it again, and he did it again. He did it again and again and again, but the worst part? The worst part was that Gerard caught him the third time. His lip trembled as the guy--Geoff--gathered his clothes, apologized, said he hadn't known, left as fast as he could. Mikey said nothing, just sat in bed and stared down at the comforter and hated himself, hated that he couldn't be what Gerard needed.

“Mikey,” Gerard said. He hadn’t moved from his spot a foot in front of the door. He sounded so small and so hurt. Mikey wished so much that he could fix it. Mikey wished he hadn’t been the cause.

“Gee,” he said back, finally looking up. They don’t really do grandiose shows of affection, no flowers, no meaningless trinkets, but Gerard had had two Starbuck cups and the DVD of Cruel Intentions in his hands. “I’m so sorry.” 

Gerard didn’t say anything. He set the cupholder and the DVD case on the dresser. He took a deep, stabling breath, and Mikey prepared himself for what the next moments would hold. He still wasn’t prepared. 

Gerard--Gerard started stripping? He pulled his shirt over his head and let it drop to the floor, toed out of his shoes. He undid his belt, and Mikey knew he wasn’t wearing anything under his jeans. He knew because he had jerked him off in the hallway before he left for work that morning. The jeans hit the floor with the clink of the metal belt buckle before Mikey finally found his voice again.

“Gee?” he asked warily,” What are you doing?” Mikey cursed his traitorous body for enjoying the sight of naked Gerard at a time like this. Gerard didn't answer him, but started climbing onto the bed. “Gee?” Mikey tried again. 

“Shut up,” Gerard said. It was small and angry and like his voice was so close to breaking. “Just shut up.” He shoved Mikey down so he was flat on the bed. “Move this fucking sheet.”

Mikey was in too much shock to comply. Gerard huffed and started angrily pulling at the sheet that Mikey had covered himself with in a vain attempt to hide from his shitty commitment issues Mikey’s brain came back online when Gerard grabbed at his dick; mostly because he was vaguely afraid that Gee would _rip it off._

Gerard leaned down and didn’t so much kiss him as mash their mouths together and bite. “I’m gonna fuck you,” Gerard said,” and get this fucking prick cologne smell off of you, and then I’m going to forget this ever fucking happened.”

“Gee, I swear I--”

Gerard cut him off, which was probably good because he didn’t know what he was going to say anyway. “Shut up, mikeyway,” he said,” if you know what’s good for you, you will shut the fuck up.” here were tears in his eyes that were never going to leave them, god damn it.

And Mikey did. He shut up and let Gerard take out all of his, perfectly reasonable, anger in a somewhat unorthodox method, and after, with Gerard’s head against his chest and a pulsing pain in his jaw and ass, he promised himself he would never do it again. He could do this; this was everything he had ever wanted. He wasn’t going to ruin it all over something so stupid. Gerard was giving him a second chance; Mikey could change.

He made it two months this time. He finally figured out that his itch for variety coincided with his manic episodes. He tried not to go out much when those came around. He tried.

This time her name was Kimberly and they fucked in her car outside a work party. The next time her name was Teresa and he ate her out in the bed that was ‘his’ when friends came over. The time after that Mikey didn’t catch his name over the music, but he was small and cute and looked almost too young to be there.

He learned. He learned not to be too careful, to stay out late  _ sometimes _ , but to not actually do anything those nights. He started wearing cologne, strong stuff that couldn’t be overpowered by anything else. Gerard still caught him in bed with someone else every other week. Gerard still took him back and told him he just wanted to forget it happened. Eventually, Mikey stopped trying, and Gerard stopped letting him sleep in the same bed as him. They still had sex, but it was mostly angry sex, and Gerard almost always cried after. It was a bad few months.

Finally it came to a head after literal days of not talking to each other. Gerard was sitting on the couch when Mikey came home from work. He was wearing a robe that the two of them shared and drinking coffee that might have actually been more whiskey than coffee. He hadn’t slept in approximately thirty-two hours, but Mikey didn’t know that because they weren't sleeping in the same bed anymore.

Mikey stopped when he saw Gerard, let the front door close behind him and dropped his keys on the table by the door. “We need to talk,” Gerard said, and Mikey’s heart stopped beating inside of his chest. He was sure of it. Gerard patted the couch next to him, and Mikey stiffly walked over and sat down. “This isn’t working out.”

“This is it then,” Mikey said, looking over at Gerard. Gerard raised an eyebrow. “Literal lifelong relationship, and I managed to fuck it up in less than a year.” He leaned forward and put his head in his hands. “Go me.”

“Yeah,” Gerard said,” you fucked it up real bad, Mikes, but so did I.”

“Did you fuck a bunch of strangers, too?” Mikey asked bitterly. And, hell, if Gerard answered that yes, he had, Mikey wouldn't even be mad. At least then they'd be equally shitty. But Mikey knew the answer to that question; Mikey knew Gerard. As much as the both of them are somewhat disillusioned with the world at large, Gerard is still a hopeless romantic. Gerard wants a house and a dog and a stable relationship, and Mikey knows--and knew at the time--that eventually Gerard would find it with someone who wasn't him.

“No,” Gerard answered Mikey. “I didn't do that, but I should've realized you would. I shouldn't have asked for something I knew you couldn't do.” Mikey felt like a real piece of shit.

“Gee, I'm sorry,” he said,” I'm so sorry.”

“I'm sorry, too, Mikes,” Gerard said back. Mikey reached out tentatively for Gerard’s hand, and Gerard let their fingers lace together. They sat in silence for a few moments, Mikey's thumb traced anxious circles on the back of Gerard’s hand.

Eventually, Gerard spoke again. “So, I was thinking,” he said,” that if you--” He sighed, stared at the floor. “If you want to keep this-this  _ thing  _ between us? If you wanna keep it open, that's--I’d be okay with that.” It took effort for Gerard to choke the words out, but he powered through.

Mikey leaned over and hugged his brother. It felt good, felt right. Gerard breathed a few deep, calming breaths in the crook of Mikey’s shoulder. They would be okay. 

They talked and established boundaries after that. Threesomes were still a-okay.  Mikey could sleep with whomever he wanted to as long as he asked Gerard first, and if Gerard said no then Mikey would listen. Mikey always listened. If he couldn't be what Gerard needed, he could at least be good for him. 

Mikey remembers when Gerard’s birthday is, (easier to do with a sibling.) He remembers their anniversary, which they sat down and decided upon a few years ago, “because we need one.” Mikey brings Gerard coffee in the morning even though Mikey is the hungover one. Mikey is the perfect, doting partner, and he always listens when Gerard says no. Always. 

Except for when he didn't. Except for when he wandered off and fucked Gerard’s best friend after Gee told him no. Except for when he acted like the bratty youngest child that he is and threw a tantrum at the word no. So yeah, you could maybe say Frank had touched a fucking nerve.


	3. Narcissism (Falling in Love with Yourself)

In retrospect, Mikey thinks that they probably should've started with him showing Frank the bass basics--the bassics, if you will--first. Because any hope they had that Mikey could learn guitar in less than a day was completely in vain. So now the rest of the band is angrily beating on the bus door, and Frank has had the bass in his hands for all of thirty seconds.

They look at each other, panicked. Mikey puts the guitar into Frank's hands as well and shoves him into the bunk area, closing the door quickly behind him. He then goes and opens the door, peeking his head out.

"Yeah?" he asks. In answer, Bob shoves past him and onto the bus. Ray follows close behind, apologizing, and Gerard comes on last, giving Mikey a weak smile. It breaks his heart a little bit.

"Where's Mikes?" he asks.

Mikey's face momentarily falls, but he gets it back up before Gerard notices, hopefully. Frank and Gerard haven't spoken to each other since they talked on the bus last night, of course Gerard wants to see his 'brother.'

"Uh, just a minute," Mikey says to Gerard. "I'll go check on him. He was freaking out pretty bad earlier."

Gerard's eyebrows knit together. "He usually comes to me when things get bad," he says quietly. Mikey can  _ fee _ l the hurt in his tone. He flees before he can do something dumb.

"Frankie," he hisses as he enters the bunk area. Frank sighs with relief when he sees it's just Mikey." What did you do with the guitars?" Mikey questions, noting the lack of instruments in Frank's hands.

"They're in your bunk," Frank says. He's drumming an erratic beat into his thigh with one hand. The other is absently picking at the skin of his neck, and Mikey swats his hand away.

"Don't fuck up my skin," he chastises. "Well, any more than it already is,” he adds, noting the blotchy redness already on most of his neck.”But no--Gerard wants to talk to you." He reminds himself of why he came in here. "Please, please, be careful of what you say, okay. Try to get out of it if you can, and listen, Frankie. Are you listening?" Frank nods.

"This is unrelated, but you are manic," Mikey says slowly," my body hasn't slept more than two hours in a good three days, and it's going to crash and crash hard sometime soon. Until then, you're gonna be shaky and hyper with a side helping of fuck anything that moves--"

"I wondered why Bob suddenly looked appealing," Frank cuts in. Mikey narrows his eyes at him.

"This is serious!" Mikey insists. "The pills should help some, but just--Frankie?" Frank nods to show he's paying close attention; Mikey's glad he thought of this. "Don't have sex in my body, with anyone but me,” he finishes,” whether I've fucked them before or you  _ think  _ I might've fucked them before, just, don't."

"I never would've considered it, mikeyway."

"Yeah, right." Mikey rolls his eyes. "Get out there and feelings it up with my brother. I'm gonna stay in here and see if I can figure out this guitar thing. If not we'll need a backup plan."

Frank makes a face. He doesn't have anything to say in response to that, so he just goes back out to where Ray, Bob, and Gerard are. 

Ray is having a mostly one-sided conversation with Gerard about how totally awesome this new band he met are. Gerard is nodding at all the appropriate times, but Frank's known Gee long enough to know that he's not really invested in what's being said. Gerard glances around and perks up immediately when he sees Frank.

"Mikes!" He calls, stopping Ray in the middle of whatever he was saying. Gerard glances apologetically at him and makes his way over to Frank. He notices the red, raw patch of skin at the base of his neck and frowns. "Hey, can we talk?" he asks, standing close, looking nervous.

Frank knows he should try to weasel out of this, but he feels so  _ bad  _ for the guy. "Yeah, Gee, we can talk. C'mon." He motions Gerard back into the hallway of the bunks.

"Where's Frankie?" Gerard asks from behind him.

"Uh, I dunno," Frank answers lamely. "Frankie?" His own name feels foreign on his tongue as he calls it out. There's no response. "Napping, maybe?" Frank offers.

"Mm." Frank is startled by Gerard suddenly standing inches behind him. Frank turns to face him. Gerard looks up at him for a moment--and isn't that a novel experience for Frank--before quickly grabbing him around the middle in a tight hug.

"I'm sorry," Gerard says into the shoulder of Frank's (Mikey's) shirt. Frank thinks he can actually hear the broken pieces of Gerard's heart clattering around. "I shouldn't have called you a whore."

Frank is vaguely surprised by that--not the apology but the insult in the first place. Since Gerard got clean he’s been living on this whole mantra of clean living and good mental health and sex/body positivity. Frank told Ray to shut his whore mouth about a week ago, and it spawned an hour long lecture on how “sex work isn’t an insult, Frankie.”

Either Gerard’s got a massive double standard, or The Fight was about some serious shit. Mikey had said it’d been a real screamer.

He remembers something else Mikey said as well; it shoots to the forefront of his mind like it’s been shouted at him. “I’m sorry,” he tells Gerard, like he promised. “I’m so, so sorry for what I said--what I did.” Penitent, yet vague, ten points to Frankie.

Gerard hugs him tighter, and Frank is starting to think that having a sibling might’ve been worth it for an unlimited source of hugs. Then things get weird.

Gerard is nuzzling Frank’s shoulder, which, fair enough. He does that to basically anyone he’s comfortable enough with for casual physical contact. His arms start to loosen. Frank thinks this signifies that the hug is almost over. Frank has never been more wrong about something in his life.

Gerard starts running his hands up and down Frank’s back. This still doesn’t raise any alarms in Frank’s head; Gerard has always been a touchy-feely sort of emotion displayer. 

When Frank really starts to question the stability of his sanity is when Gerard starts laying kisses up his neck. They’re soft and whispery, ‘I’m sorry’ without the trouble of words. Frank’s done the same thing to girlfriends he’s pissed off, but Frank is currently in Gee’s baby brother’s body.

“Gee?” Frank asks. Gerard hums in answer. “What, uh--”

“Fuck!” 

Gerard jumps away from Frank like he’s been bit, and both of them turn to see Mikey now lying on the floor. Looks like he took a dive from his bunk.

“Frankie!” Gerard says. He doesn’t follow it with anything, just glances nervously at Frank.

“Uh, hi guys,” Mikey groans from the floor.

“I think you fell,” Frank says.

“Not shit,” Mikey answers. “Fuck, I think I hurt something.” 

Gerard is frozen, his face in comical surprise. Mikey wants so badly to kiss it off his face, but Frank is still here, and he’s still in Frank’s body. He’ll just have to wait.

“Sorry, did I interrupt something?” Mikey asks.

“No,” Gerard says quickly,”not at all.” 

He rests a hand on Frank’s shoulder for a moment; Frank has the urge to grab it and give Gerard a long hug. He feels immeasurable sadness for a few unexplained seconds before apparently his subconscious decides to get back with the program. Gerard has turned and is leaving the room as Frank’s rational emotions come back. He shakes his head a few times before Mikey whines from the floor.

“Well that was weird,” Frank says as he helps Mikey up. A sudden spike of anxiety buries itself, unbidden, in his chest. He does his best to ignore it, wondering what it's based on in the first place.

“I think Gerard just tried to kiss it better,” he says with an awkward laugh, trying to lighten the mood and ease the pressure in his chest.

“See this is exactly why I said not to be alone with him,” Mikey says. He wipes his palms on his jeans; why does sweating when nervous have to be a thing his and Frank’s body's have in common?

“Why'd you bring him back here?” he asks, crossing his arms and waiting for an answer. He’s made Frank’s body look like a pissed off soccer mom.

“I dunno, it didn't seem right to have that conversation where everyone could hear.”

“Frankie, that's not your call,” Mikey tells him with a sigh. “Don't do it again, okay? You really don't know how we work.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that a little bit now,” Frank says.

\----

It rapidly becomes apparent that there's no way Mikey’s going to be able to perform as Frank. Frank already knows how to play bass, so really all he has to do is memorize the songs. Mikey has two extra strings to deal with, and he doesn't know how notes work on this thing.

“How do we convince them that you can't play?” Mikey asks, leaning his head back against the wall and absently petting Pansy. “You  _ always  _ play. If I go tell them that I can't play because my wrist twinges a little they're gonna think you're fucked in the head.”

They’ve sneaked off. It's late, he's not sure what room this is, but it didn't have a lock. He can hear people walking around and shouting things, voices muffled, but no one’s tried to come into this room yet. They've found the sort of public privacy that is all you get on a tour like this.

“We’re both fucked in the head, if you haven’t noticed,” Frank says.

Mikey has nothing to say to that. He stares up at the ceiling and listens to the quiet sound of Frank practicing “I’m Not Okay.”  The familiar rhythm is comforting, but every time Frank misses a note Mikey feels an uncomfortable swell of irritation toward himself. As if Mikey is messing up the song himself.

“What if you're sick?” Mikey asks after a few more run-throughs. “That's reasonable, right? Can't perform if you've got a gross cold.”

“Mikeyway, you're devious,” Frank says, pausing his playing.

“Comes with being the youngest,” Mikey says.

\----

Mikey manages to convince the whole band that he can’t play because he’s coming down with something. He makes it convincing by literally sleeping for sixteen hours straight after saying he doesn't feel well. Frank’s body is amazing in the way he can just switch it on and off.

The first time Frank goes onstage with Mikey’s bass (and a substitute rhythm guitarist from Ray’s recommendation), he refuses to take the pills that Mikey hands him twenty minutes beforehand, thinks it’ll mess him up. He’s not expecting the sudden and unstoppable feelings of anxiety and paralysis that come over his body. He suddenly understands why Mikey doesn’t play to the crowd the way Frank does. He misses half the notes and plays the other half too late. He’ll take the pills next time, he decides.

Gerard catches him by the shoulder after he's escaped the stage. Frank flinches so hard he thinks he pulled a muscle. “Mikes,” he says, this thumbs runs back and forth on Frank’s shoulder. “Mikes are you okay?”

Frank panics; he’s a deer in the headlights, and Gerard is an oblivious ambulance. Gerard is looking at him with this open concern on his face, and Frank doesn't know how to fall apart the way Mikey would. He doesn't know how this works. He doesn't know what he should tell Gerard, and his lungs aren’t working. The only thing running through Frank’s head is “danger, danger, danger.” 

“I--I don’t--I can't. I--” He wants Mikey. He needs Mikey to tell him what to do with this body and this brain that don’t fucking work. But Mikey is back on the bus, practicing guitar. He needs Mikey. His head is pounding; his chest hurts. He grabs his head in his hands and sinks down the wall, cradled on the floor. 

“Shit, Mikes,” Gerard breathes. He crouches down and rests a hand on Frank’s shoulder. Frank curls more in on himself. “C'mon, pretty,talk to me.” Frank doesn't register what Gerard’s just called him.

Frank can't speak. He's incapable of speech. Every time he opens his mouth he just ends up gulping in more air. He’s dying. He’s dying! He’s had Mikey’s body for less than forty eight hours, and he's already killed it. He's a failure. He doesn't know how to deal with this.  _ He needs Mikey. _

“Where’s Fr--Mikey, where’s Mikey?” Gerard looks up at the sound of Frank’s frantic voice from another hall. “I need to find--”

“Frankie?” Gerard stands and calls to him. Frank quickly rounds the corner at the call of his name. He looks rough. His hair is rumpled beyond repair, face flushed. He’s panting and sweaty and has this half-crazed look in his eye. His shoes are untied, and only one of the three buttons on his pants is done.

“Frankie!” Frank says triumphantly and scrambles toward the crumpled form of Mikey. “I mean Mikey!” he corrects himself. “What’s happening?” he asks Mikey. 

Frank looks up at his own face, and his chest loosens a little. Mikey is here; Mikey knows what to do; Mikey will fix this. He opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out it ragged breathing.

“Shh, shh, it's okay.” Mikey kneels down and places a hand on Frank’s shoulder. Frank flinches at the initial contact but relaxes a moment later. “You don't have to talk; it's okay.” Mikey cards a hand through Frank’s hair. Frank leans into the touch, and his breathing starts to even out.

Gerard stands by and watches. He thinks he can actually feel his heart breaking, like someone stabbed him through the ribs. Mikey used to come to  _ him _ when he got bad. Mikey used to ask for  _ him _ when he had panic attacks. Mikey hasn’t climbed into his bunk and desperately kissed him like he always does after a fight. Mikey--Mikey is  _ his _ , God damn it! And so is Frank! It’s not fair that they’re choosing each other over him.

Gerard backs away from the scene unfolding in front of him. He can't look away even though it's killing him ever so slowly to see Mikey clutching on to Frank’s arms while Frank tells him to  _ breathe _ , breathe, it's okay. Gerard turns around and runs away as soon as the hallway bends.

\----

“Frankie,” Mikey says his name to get his attention. “Frankie, I need you to stand up, okay?” Frank’s eyes go wide and he starts shaking his head. “Frankie, Frankie,” Mikey says again. “Just for a little while, okay? We’re gonna go somewhere quiet. We’re gonna go to the bus, okay?”

“I like the bus,” Frank answers. Mikey smiles and sighs in relief. This is good. Talking is good. 

“Yes, you do. The bus is good. We’re gonna go there now, okay?”

“Okay,” Frank says, though he sounds a bit unsure. Unintelligible voices echo through the backstage area, and Frank flinches. 

“It’ll be quick, I promise,” Mikey says. “C’mon, you’ll feel better.” He stands up and offers his hand down to Frank. Frank takes it and hoists himself up. 

They make it back to the bus with little interference. Frank is curled into Mikey's side as they walk, and it looks ridiculous given that Mikey-Frank is considerably shorter than Frank-Mikey. The familiar, acrid air of the music festival calms him. Everything is still too loud, too bright, but he doesn’t have to open his eyes. He keeps a hand over one ear and keeps the other pressed against Mikey’s shoulder, muffling the world.  Mikey’s got him. Frank realizes, distantly, that he’s seen Gerard do this same thing with Mikey dozens of times. 

\----

When they get back to the bus, Frank is still holding onto Mikey’s arm, but he’s much less tense than he was before. He feels like all of his limbs have been replaced with lead, and he just wants to  _ sleep. _ Mikey leads Frank into the bunk area, but Gerard is in Mikey’s bunk. He’s curled up around the teddy bear Frank noticed his first night in there. “Gee?” Mikey asks after he opens the curtains. “What’re you doing in my--key’s bunk?”

Gerard looks startled to see them. “Hey, Mikes,” he says, and Mikey freezes for a moment. He notices that Gerard is looking at Frank, though, and relaxes. Frank smiles at him and yawns against Mikey’s shoulder.

“Hey, Gee,” he says after. “Can you get out of there?” Gerard’s face falls, and Mikey feels his heart break for the millionth time today. Frank has a sudden urge to apologize to Gerard. 

“Yeah, yeah Mikes, of course,” Gerard says, quiet. Mikey's heart breaks at the familiar words. He climbs his way out of the bunk and hands the stuffed bear to Frank. “Here.”

Frank is somewhat confused, but he takes the bear and flashes Gerard the best smile he can manage. Gerard smiles back. “Let me just.” Gerard climbs into his own bunk, across and down from Mikey’s. 

Mikey is watching the casual way Frank holds the stuffed bear. He's watching it and he doesn't like it. Frank is the first person besides Mikey and Gerard to touch that bear in years, and it makes Mikey uncomfortable, even though it’s technically Mikey’s body doing the touching.

For about ten seconds he keeps glancing at Frank’s hands and then anywhere else. Finally, he grabs for the bear; Frank is startled and holds it tighter.

“Frankie,” Mikey hisses, wary of Gerard in his bunk. “Give me Barnabas.”

“Who?” Frank's asks. Mikey raises his eyebrows and motions down at that bear with his head. “Oh!” Frank lets Mikey take the bear, the bear named Barnabas.

Mikey hugs it close to his chest. Frank wants to make some sort of joke, but something about Mikey’s face tells him not to. He feels a sudden, deep-seated calmness settle in his chest. It’s unexpected, but he welcomes it. 

“Go to bed, Frankie,” Mikey says, safely depositing Barney in his--Frank’s--bunk.  “It's been a long day.”

Frank can't argue with that. He climbs into his--Mikey’s--bunk, shucks his jeans, and gets comfortable. With any luck he’ll actually sleep tonight. Frank’s never been all that lucky, though, and Mikey’s bunk is just foreign enough that he’s uncomfortable there. He wants his bunk back.

At two AM, when sleep still eludes him, he quietly climbs out of his bunk. On bare feet, he pads to his own bunk and slowly pulls back the curtain. Mikey is curled up around the bear, facing the aisle. He’s very obviously asleep, so Frank pokes him a few times to wake him up. 

“Frankie?” Mikey asks groggily. “What?”

“I can’t sleep,” Frank whispers back. “Can I--” It sounds stupid now that he’s gone to say it out loud, but he’s come this far. “Can I sleep in here? I can’t sleep in your bunk.” 

Mikey squints for a moment like he’s trying to figure out what Frank just said. “Uh, sure?” He sets Barney behind his head on the pillow and scoots back until there’s enough space for Frank to settle into.

Frank lies with his back to Mikey’s front Mikey has one arm under the pillow and the other slung above his head. Frank adopts a similar posture, though his free arm is resting on the pillow by his head. It’s the best position for Sharing a bunk; Mikey knows from experience.

“Hey, Mikes?” Frank asks after they get settled. Mikey hums in response, but Frank can hear the question mark at the end of it. “How’d you know to come help me earlier?” he asks; it’s been nagging at him.

Mikey is silent for a few seconds. “I don’t actually know,” he finally admits. “I was just--I got really panicked all of a sudden? And I kept thinking Frank needs me, Frank needs me. It was super weird.”

Mikey yawns, and Frank is suddenly immeasurably tired, too tired to question it further. “Goodnight, Frankie,” Mikey says. He absentmindedly presses a kiss to the back of Frank’s neck, and Frank is Calm. He falls asleep in minutes. He wakes up to Mikey’s arm tightly around his waist, Mikey’s face nuzzled against his neck, and he’s happy Mikey’s body made him wake up first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not much to say abt this one. hope you enjoyed it. comments make me want to write more so leave those if you have any. peace.


	4. Of Course

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY THAT THIS TOOK 7000 YEARS PLS FORGIVE ME

Frank doesn’t handle Mikey’s life and brain very well. Gerard is sulking every time Frank refuses to talk alone with him. Frank keeps forgetting his pills and thinking that sleeping will be restful. Pete keeps trying to get Frank to sleep with him. Frank actually  _ is  _ sleeping with Mikey, but Mikey mopes about it like he's the biggest piece of shit afterwards. Which sucks, because it's  _ really good sex. _ Frank has seen himself from so many new angles lately, and he’s afraid he’s slowly falling in love with his own body.

Mikey’s body’s manic state levels out a few days later. Frank actually falls asleep in the middle of a conversation, and Mikey knows that if he’s feeling exhaustion then he’s coming down. He comes down hard. It’s work to get him awake enough to play the shows, and once he is awake he’s a shaking mess. However, he is a coherent and (for the most part) not hallucinating shaking mess, and that has to count for something. The shakes will subside.

Mikey manages pretty alright as Frank. After a week of intensive sleep/covert guitar lessons he feels like he’s reasonably prepared to pretend to be Frank onstage. If he focuses really hard and looks down at his hands he can play perfectly. If he doesn’t do that he can play passably. If Gerard comes over and tries to makeout with him onstage he can do nothing but revel. 

The first time it happens, Mikey is caught completely off guard. He’s staring down at the guitar. He knows he should be trying to give the fans a show, but he doesn’t know  _ how. _ Gerard, apparently fed up with ‘Frank’s’ lack of enthusiasm (fed up with Frank’s lack of attention focused on him) comes over to him; Mikey doesn't notice until he sees shoes on the floor below him. 

He chances a quick glance up, and there's Gerard, beautiful and sweaty and looking like he just got fucked. (Mikey knows what Gerard looks like when he’s just gotten fucked. Mikey misses it.)

He’s still playing passably, so Mikey indulges in staring. When the instrumental kicks in, Gerard fists a hand in Mikey’s collar and pulls him in for a kiss. Mikey is shellshocked, ecstatic,  _ wanting _ . He grabs Gerard’s shoulders (gives up on playing at all) and kisses him with all he has. He can hear the crowd cheering (hears a falter in the bassline when Frank looks to see what’s happening.)

Gerard bites Mikey’s lip before he leaves to sing the rest of the song, and Mikey scrambles to find where they’re at. It takes him a few measures but gets back in sync with everyone else, his sudden silence having not caused too major a hiccup.

Later, Frank climbs into his own bunk with Mikey (in the dead of night, when everyone else is asleep. It reminds Mikey so much of something else, someone else.) It’s become a nightly tradition for them now; it makes Frank sleep better. He sleeps with his back to Mikey’s front, and if he’s woken up Mikey for dry humping at oddball hours of the night, well, that’s his business.

“Was it weird to kiss Gerard?” he whispers over his shoulder. He wants to speak entirely in whispers around Mikey, sometimes. This thing they have seems so precarious.

Mikey stiffens. “I don’t know,” he responds automatically. ‘I don’t know,’ is an appropriate response to any question, will buy you silence and time to think up a lie. “He didn’t know it was me,” he adds. “I don’t think it was weird.”

“Okay,” Frank whispers back. It’s so soft he’s not sure if Mikey even heard it. He’s not sure what it even means, but it’s okay.

\----

Frank is always the first one off the stage, like Mikey always was. Gerard is always last. He comes off beautiful and sweaty from the disgusting summer heat, and he asks,” Where’s Mikes?”

'I'm right here,' Mikey wants to scream.  He wants to hug him and say he loves him and misses him so much. He wants to kiss him and ask, ‘Do you recognize me now?’ He wants his brother back. Instead he shrugs and watches Gee’s face fall, then runs off to where he knows Frank is to run damage control.

Gerard looks sad most of the time he’s not performing. Mikey supposes that it's his own fault for avoiding his brother and telling Frank to do the same, but Mikey--Mikey doesn't know how to deal with his problems with anything but avoidance and despair. Still, he can feel his heart breaking a little bit every time he sees his brother.

\----

Mikey is about ten seconds from a breakdown. His head is fucking quiet for once, and he's not having nightmares. He's sleeping normally and regularly. His lungs seize up sometimes, but his  _ head  _ is  _ quiet.  _ And Mikey absolutely  _ hates _ it. He wants Gerard back. He misses curling up next his big brother until he stopped shaking. He wants his fuckimg body back, and he’s going through brother withdrawal symptoms.

He’s been lying in his bed (Frank’s bed) for a solid four hours in the middle of the day, curled up around Barnabas. The bear is his version of a security blanket. Gerard had gotten him out of a claw machine when Mikey was ten and crying about how he couldn’t win. Gerard spent thirty minutes and Mikey didn’t want to know how many quarters trying to get it. Mikey had given him the biggest hug of his young life when Gerard presented it to him and had immediately named him Barnabas, captain of the high seas. 

He smells like Gerard and Mikey, smells like  _ familiar  _ and  _ home. _ His eyepatch has been sown back on three times, his hat much more; Mikey’s lost count. He pets the worn fabric of Barney’s ear. It feels different with Frank’s hands. 

He knows he told Frank he shouldn’t worry about it, but Mikey is afraid they won’t go back. They have to go back. He  _ needs  _ his brother. Frank is too busy dealing with how much Mikey’s body is broken to help with fixing  _ Mikey _ , and even though his head is quiet there’s an aching pit in his chest where Gerard should go. 

He curls tighter around Barney and actually starts to cry. Frank’s body cries differently than Mikey’s, more full body shudders and choked wails than quiet sobbing and shaking all over. The thought makes him cry harder; he wants his  _ life  _ back.

Mikey doesn’t realize that he’s crying loud enough to be heard in the front of the bus until Gerard comes back to check on him. He knocks lightly on the wood of Frank’s bunk and says softly,” Frankie? Hey, Frankie, you okay?”

The sound of a foreign name coming from Gerard’s mouth when it should be  _ Mikey’s _ just makes him more upset. He curls as tight as he can around his bear and tries to be quiet; Gerard is just not having it. He pulls open the curtain on Frank’s bunk, and Mikey flinches at the light. 

“Frankie?” Gerard says, soft, quiet. It’s a tone of voice that Mikey’s familiar with. It’s the one Gerard always uses to calm him down after panic attacks. Mikey sniffs audibly; with snot and tears running down his face it’s hard not to. “What’s wrong?”

Mikey is a weak man. He’s still holding Barnabas in one arm, but he rolls over to face Gerard and wraps his free arm around his neck, pulling him into an awkward hug and getting snot on his shirt. Gerard brings both arms up to wrap around Mikey’s--Frank’s--back. 

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Gerard says, petting up and down Mikey’s back. Mikey sobs into Gerard’s shoulder, because no. It’s really not alright, but Gerard can’t know why. 

\----

Gerard stays there, awkwardly holding Frank half out of his bunk while the younger cries on him. “Shh, shh,” he says periodically, petting through Frank’s uncharacteristically greasy hair. Frankie must be really upset to have been avoiding showers, and Gerard wonders how he’s been missing it. 

He thumbs along the back of Frank’s neck, pets his head and says it’s okay. He’s pulling out every Big Brother comforting technique he knows, but it doesn’t seem to be working. If anything, Frank is crying harder. Gerard is not one to leave a hysteric person alone, but he really wishes the others were back on the bus so he could hand Frank off. He’s obviously not helping his friend any. 

“Frankie,” he says, during a small lull. Frank sniffs and sobs once against Gerard’s shoulder. Gerard swallows thickly, really not wanting to say what he’s going to. “Do you want me to go get Mikey?” 

Gerard finds out immediately that that was absolutely not the right thing to say. There’s a sharp intake of breath before Frank’s other arm shoots out and wraps around Gerard, pulling him impossibly closer. Frank’s entire upper body is hanging out of the bunk now, supported by Gerard, and he’s whispering,” No, no, no, no,” over and over again. 

“Okay, okay, I won’t do that,” Gerard says, quickly backtracking. “But can you come out here?” He’s afraid he’s going to drop Frank on his head or something. Frank sniffs and nods against Gerard's shoulder.

Gerard thinks that Frank is going to let him go, climb out of the bunk and maybe talk to him. Gerard is wrong. Frank clings tightly to Gerard’s shoulders and just swings his bottom half off the bunk into the floor. He lands stably, if not gracefully.

“Okay, that's good, Frankie, that's good,” Gerard murmurs. Now that Frank is standing, Gerard is at the perfect height to rest his chin on Frank’s head and wrap his arms around Frank’s skinny torso in a hug. Frank is at least not sobbing anymore, and that's something.

Gerard holds the hug for what he thinks is an appropriate amount of time (and then maybe a little longer. He’s an affection whore, and Frankie is warm and so familiar, comforting.) He presses one kiss to the top of Frank’s head, because he thinks he can get away with that, then pulls away, hands resting on  Frank’s shoulders. Frank seems to be sort of okay now. He’s not openly sobbing everywhere, so, that's something. 

“Okay good, this is good,” Gerard says, starting to run his hands down Frank’s arms. He's got something in his hand, and Gerard looks down to see what it is while still speaking. “Let’s just go--” He doesn't get to finish his sentence, voice dying in his throat. Frank is holding Barnabas-- _ Mikey’s  _ Barnabas, that Gerard got for him when he was ten, that Mikey has guarded with his life since then, that no one else has ever been allowed to hold so casually--tightly against himself with one hand. 

Frank sniffs and wipes at his nose absently with his free hand. He looks like shit. His eyes are red and puffy, hair a greasy tangled mess (not that Gerard can say anything about that.) There are tear tracks cutting their way down his face, and he’s looking up at Gerard like he can fix every problem in the world.

“Where did you,” Gerard starts then stops. “How did you--when did--” He can’t find words or noises or  _ abstract concepts  _ to explain the way he feels in this very moment of time. Betrayed comes to mind, but it’s not strong enough. Forgotten is a closer match. Hurt, scared, forgotten, replaced, unneeded--none of them are  _ strong enough.  _

Frank is still looking up at him. “Gee,” he says, quiet. His free hand cups the curve of Gerard’s jaw, and Gerard immediately darts his eyes toward Frank’s face. “I’m so sorry.” 

Gerard doesn’t get a chance for the, “What for?” to leave his lips. Frank gets up on his toes, eye level with Gerard, and kisses him, soft and sweet and nothing like all the other times they’ve kissed. No one is watching; no one is cheering. There are no flashing lights or guitars or drums that Gerard can feel in his bones. There’s just he and Frank and an empty bus and Frank’s thumb petting his cheek in a way that’s so familiar he hurts.

As much as Gerard wants this to continue (wants answers), he needs Mikey here. A little voice in the back of his head says, no, he doesn’t (he wants it so badly that it  _ aches _ in his chest). Mikey has done this sort of thing countless times, and Gerard’s been left to clean up his messes. Gerard’s not a hypocrite, though, and this isn’t something he will fall into on his own.

He puts his hands on Frank’s arms and gently pushes him away. Frank’s eyes are closed, and he leaves them that way. “I can’t, Frankie,” he sighs.

Frank looks back up at him with a watery smile. “ I know,” he replies. Gerard doesn’t know what Frank means, doesn’t know what Mikey’s told him. “Hey, Gee?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I have a hug?”

Gerard’s hands are still on Frank’s arms. He should move them. Should tell himself no. Should go find Mikey and  _ force him _ to talk it out. Instead, he nods his head, and pulls Frank into his chest. He does his best to ignore the bear that he can still feel Frank clinging to, does his best not to cry.

”Yeah, Frankie, of course,” he says quietly.

~~~~

They were fourteen and ten. “Hey, Gee,” Mikey said,” can I borrow this?” He held up a book. (Gerard doesn’t remember which one, isn’t even sure he looked at the time.)

“Of course,” Gerard said without hesitation.

\----

They were seventeen and thirteen. It was Mikey’s first day of high school. He knocked on the doorframe of the bathroom, and Gerard looked over, black eye pencil held casually in three fingers, still pointed toward his eye. “Hey, Gee,” Mikey said by way of greeting.

“What’s up, Mikes?” Gerard offered back.

Mikey shuffled his feet and looked down at them. “Could you teach me how to use that?” He nodded his head toward Gerard’s hand.

A smiled twitched across Gerard’s face. “Of course,” he answered.

\----

They were nineteen and fifteen, locked in an odd routine that neither dared speak about. Gerard would go to college, would go out, would come home. Mikey would go to school, would go out, would come home. Gerard was fucking strangers in bathrooms and cars and their own houses; Mikey was fumbling his way through semi-public groping. Gerard would come home, and Mikey would come home, and they would swap stories. They shared too many details and asked too many breathless questions. They were teetering on the brink of something, and neither of them knew what it was. 

“How did you know you liked boys,” was the first thing Gerard heard upon descending the steps to his room. Mikey was lying on Gerard’s bed, arms slug above his head and feet dangling off the end.

Gerard dropped his bag to the side of the stairs and shrugged off his jacket. “Are you asking for a friend?” he joked. He came over to sit on the edge of the bed and started taking off his boots.

“Asshole,” Mikey said back. Gerard snorted and laid himself down next to Mikey. His back was propped up on the pillows, his feet actually on the bed as opposed to Mikey who apparently thought pillows were for your arms.

“There was this guy a few years older than me,” Gerard began. Mikey looked up at him as soon as he began to speak. “He was beautiful.” Mikey pulled himself up so that he and Gerard were in the same position. “I was fourteen and pretty sure I loved him,” he said, rolling his eyes at himself. 

“I know the feeling,” Mikey said softly.

Gerard paused for a second, looked at Mikey, licked his lips. “Obviously I was wrong,” he continued, forcing himself to move on,” but I only figured that out  _ after _ I sucked his dick.” 

It was Mikey’s turn to lick his inexplicably dry lips, to swallow loudly. There was silence for a few moments, then,”Hey, Gee?” Gerard hummed in response. “Tell me about it?” Mikey asked.

The bed was not big enough for there to be as much space between them as there should’ve been. Mikey’s arm was warm against Gerard’s side. His heart was beating louder and harder than it should. “Of course,” Gerard said, so quiet it was almost a whisper.

\----

They were twenty and sixteen, at the last party of the summer before school started up again. Gerard didn’t want to be there, but Mikey had made him come, said he needed to leave the house at least once this week.

Mikey had dressed him. Told him to wear the jeans that made his ass look nice (Gerard didn’t know which pair that was or where it was in his vast piles of shit. Mikey did, though.) and threw a shirt at him. Gerard half-heartedly combed the rats out of his hair, but didn’t bother with makeup. It just wasn’t one of those days. 

Mikey, being the social butterfly that he was, had immediately ditched Gerard and told him to,” Go make friends. You’re a cool dude.” Gerard was resolutely  _ not _ a cool dude, and he sat himself on the couch by the snacks and pouted. This was a high school party, and he was not a high schooler. Everyone here probably thought he was creepy. 

An hour in, while Gerard was contemplating taking the car and going home (Because fuck Mikey, he could walk home.), someone sat next to him. Gerard looked over, ready to tell whatever high school couple that had decided to makeout next to him to fuck off.

He was pleasantly surprised to find that it was just a lone girl who had sat next to him. She was pretty, darkskinned and brunette. She was wearing a white croptop that probably had said something at one point, but was faded beyond comprehension now. She looked close to his age, and he wondered if she was in the same boat he was.

“Oh, hi,” Gerard said, once he took her in. She was hot, and Gerard was not accustomed to being approached by hot people. (Dark clubs where he was dressed in his most ripped jeans and had done all but written ‘fuck me hard’ across his forehead didn't count.)

“Hey,” she said back. She had a drink in her hand. “I’m Raen .”

“Gerard.”

“Hi, Gerard.” She took a sip of her drink. She was probably already a little bit drunk. Her face was flushed, cheeks dark, and her speech wasn’t the clearest. “You seem a little old to be here,” she said.

“I’m only here because my brother dragged me out,” he answered.

“I’m here ‘cause ‘s my house.” Gerard raised an eyebrow. “Sister made me buy the beer, ‘cause my fake ID better than hers.” she said by way of explanation, shrugging.

They talked idly for a few minutes. Raen was nice. She wore candy pink lipstick, and Gerard liked anyone who wore candy pink lipstick. She laughed when he made bad jokes and had definite opinions on her favorite X-men. Over the course of their conversation, she moved steadily closer to Gerard, and he was starting to think maybe this party wasn’t a complete waste of time. Raen put her hand on his thigh, and his theory was pretty much confirmed.

She kissed him, and he kissed her back. He hoped she didn't touch his unwashed hair, and she didn't. He pet his hand up her thigh, fingers brushing the frayed denim at the edge of her shorts, and she sighed into his mouth.

She showed him to her bedroom. (They were both Adults and their foreplay wasn't going to go down in a room full of high schoolers.) She turned the lowest light on and pushed him down on the bed. He wondered if maybe he was just the only acceptable option at this party full of teenagers. He was alright with being that if the reward was Raen kissing him and pawing at his fly.

They didn't even bother to close the door, and it's a wonder that Mikey was the first one to walk in on them, really. Gerard saw him first, their eyes locking. “Hey, Gee,” Mikey mouthed at him, smirking.

Raen was on the floor. Gerard was getting a  _ really good _ blow job, and his baby brother was  _ watching _ .  Mikey had caught him quite literally with his pants around his ankles.

Mikey licked his lips; Gerard tilted his head back and moaned. They caught each other’s eyes again. “Hey, Raen ,” Gerard said, touching her shoulder to get her attention. His voice wasn't quite steady, but he’s only human.

Raen stopped what she was doing. “Too much for you?” she teased, standing up slowly. Gerard could see down her shirt..

He swallowed, reached out and stroked a hand up her side. “No, not that.” He brushed his hand along her back, skin against skin; it was nice. He put his other hand on her hip, guided her into his lap. His jeans were still open, dick still out, and he was careful to keep from dissolving into mindless grinding.

“I was wondering,” he started, but cut himself off. He gnawed at his bottom lip. It’s a nervous habit both he and Mikey have. (It’s a response to arousal both he and Mikey have.) 

“What?” Raen asked. She was tipsy at best, and Gerard briefly wondered if he should do this. “C’moooon,” she interrupted his thoughts, hands clumsily pawing at his chest,” tell meee.”

Gerard put two hands on her hips to stabilize her. “I was wondering if my friend could stay.” He nodded his head at Mikey. 

Raen turned her head quickly to look at him, and Mikey froze. She stared at him longer. He lifted one hand in an awkward wave. She smiled at him. “Aw, he's  _ cute _ ,” she said. “He’s tall. What’s his name?”

“Mikey,” Gerard answered. There was a predatory grin on his face as he said it.

“Can I stay?” Mikey asked. Raen nodded her approval.

“Of course,” Gerard said. Mikey smiled softly and stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him. It felt final, the soft click of the door latch resonating somewhere in Gerard’s chest. This was it; they couldn't shrug this off, what they were about to do. 

Mikey came and sat next to the two on the bed. “You sure about this?” Gerard asked.

Mikey looked down at his hands. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, then looked at Gerard. “Yeah,” he said,” I’m sure.”

\----

They were twenty and just barely seventeen. It was Mikey’s birthday. Two weeks had passed since The Incident. Mikey told his friends he wasn't a virgin anymore; not all of them believed him. Their delicate routine had been tipped on its head, and a new one had replaced it. 

Gerard went to college, came home, jerked off; Mikey went to school, came home, jerked off. If they were doing it in the same room, on the same bed, at the same time, that was their business and no one else’s. (If Mikey gasped, ‘I love you,’ sometimes, that was his business, and no one else’s.)

They didn’t do much for Mikey’s birthday. It was on a school day, and their mom had to work late. Gerard ordered a pizza, and they watched A New Hope. It could've been any other day, but with pizza.

Gerard was in the kitchen, throwing away their paper plates and napkins. Mikey had stayed downstairs, so Gerard was surprised when he turned around and he was there, staring intently.

Gerard started, a hand shooting up to his chest in surprise. “Jesus, Mikey,” he said, laughing lightly,” make some noise next time.” 

Mikey said nothing. He licked his bottom lip and chewed on it for a moment. Gerard watched as pink skin became red. He opened his mouth, about to say something, when Mikey finally moved.

He moved toward Gerard, pressing him back against the kitchen counter. Mikey had been taller than him for months, but it really hit him now. Mikey stooped down so he was at eye level with Gerard. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered. Gerard only had a moment to comprehend what those words meant before Mikey’s lips were against his own.

Gerard froze for a moment, taking in the situation. He made up his mind fairly quickly and grabbed two handfuls of the back of Mikey’s shirt, pulling him in closer. Mikey’s tongue pet at Gerard’s lips, and Gerard moaned quietly, opened his mouth. Mikey bit hard at Gerard’s bottom lip and pulled away. 

They looked at each other, brown eyes meeting brown eyes for what felt like forever. They'd crossed the line (they'd crossed the line two weeks ago), taken a running start and sprinted past the line. There wasn’t even a line anymore; they'd just trampled it in their careless stampede. They were breathing hard. Gerard could feel Mikey’s dick against his leg. They kissed again.

Later, in the dark, quiet of Gerard’s room, he and Mikey lay tangled together. The line was a distant memory, an old friend, lost somewhere along with Gerard’s pants and Mikey’s blow job virginity. Mikey turned his head away from Gerard’s skin so he could speak.

“Hey, Gee?” he said. Gerard pet along Mikey’s shoulder, made a noise to show he was listening, but left his eyes closed. Mikey took a deep breath. “Do you love me?”

Gerard’s eyes flew open in surprise.  How could Mikey even question that? Hadn’t Gerard been saying it for years? Hadn't Gerard told him so many different times, at so many different (so many  _ inappropriate)  _ moments? He turned his head, and Mikey looked up at him. Gerard said the only thing that made sense. “Of course.”


	5. Steel Wool and Waiting Around

When they play their show that day, Gerard doesn't go near Mikey. He doesn't go near Frank, either, and he compensates for the lack of a show by having sex with the entire crowd at once. Mikey’s never been so glad to have an instrument in front of his dick.

They don't talk to each other much over the next day. Gerard shoots Frank little glances while they're in public, and Mikey knows that it's Gerard trying to have a conversation that no one else can understand.

Mikey knows that he and Frank should talk. Hell, he and Gerard should talk. He and Frank _and_ Gerard should _really_ talk. But neither of them are coming to him, and Mikey has a couple decades of not being proactive under his belt. He’ll wait this one out. (Maybe he’ll learn from his mistakes someday.)

\----

Mikey makes his way back onto the bus after what he considers to be a successful walk. No one tried to talk to him, and he doesn't feel so much like he's going to rip what's left of Frank's hair out from being confined to the bus.

He grabs a poptart, because he hasn't eaten yet, and flops down on the couch. He hears someone coming out of the bunk area, but doesn't pay it much mind.He starts to pay it a bit more mind when Frank is suddenly climbing into his lap. It takes him a minute; he’s still not used to his extra length. Mikey swallows and set his impromptu breakfast aside. Frank is pressing kisses against his tattooed neck.

“Hi,” he says, surprised but not unwelcoming. He smiles up at Frank when he pulls away.

“Hi,” Frank says back. He kisses Mikey, cradles his jaw in his hands and _kisses_ him. Mikey moans into it. He’s missed this, craved this kind of attention since he ended up in this body. Frank’s a good lay, but Mikey misses sex with someone he’s totally in love with. He tries not to think about how, given time, Frank would probably fall into that category.   
  
"Where's everyone else?" Mikey asks, running one hand through Frank's hair--his hair. It's the cleanest he's ever felt it, and he wonders when Frank's been sneaking off to take showers.   
  
"Out."   
  
Frank bites Mikey's jaw and gently runs his hands up under his shirt. Mikey stifles a whine. He needs to--needs to make sure they won't get caught. "When will they be back?" he asks, breathy. He lifts his arms when Frank goes to take his shirt off.   
  
One of Frank's hands starts tracing around the waist of Mikey's pants. “Don’t know.” He bites Mikey’s bottom lip and pulls. Mikey whines and looks up at him. Frank gulps. It’s now or never.

“Hey, Mikes,” he says, settling himself more comfortably in Mikey’s lap. He’s really not the right shape for it, right now, but it’ll have to do.

Mikey seems to catch on to Frank’s tone of voice. He sits up straighter, settles his hands on Frank’s hips--his own hips. “What’s up?” he asks.

Frank takes a deep breath. “I was wondering,” he says, making eye contact. Frank’s always been one to face things head on. “I was wondering if you might, possibly, be interested in, maybe,uh--” Head on does not mean ‘with a speech prepared.’ Mikey waits patiently for Frank to find his words.

“I was wondering if maybe you’d like to, uh, date?” Frank closes his eyes after he says it, like that will protect him from rejection. When Mikey doesn’t say anything after a few seconds, he slowly opens one eye to gauge his reaction.

Mikey’s mouth is slightly open in shock. He makes an aborted noise in his throat before swallowing loudly. “Frankie, I--I can’t,” he settles on.

“Why _not?”_ Frank asks, sounding hurt. “You can do it for girls, and you can do it for Pete, but you can’t do it for me?”

“It’s not that. I--I want to,” he says, and it’s true. He wants Frank in more ways than he can have him, but he needs Gerard more. “I’ve realized lately how much I really do, but I _can’t.”_

“Why?” Frank asks again.

“Because I would ruin it!” Mikey shouts. “I’d ruin it, and I’d ruin the band. I’d break your heart and Gerard’s. I’m no good at it.”

“Oh Mikey,” Frank says. He kisses Mikey again, softer this time. “You’ve broken my heart plenty of times, and I’m still here.”

Mikey snorts.”That was fucking corny, dude,” he says. Frank laughs.

“Yeah it was. It’s true though.”

“I really want to, Frankie,” Mikey admits. It's not a no. He really wishes he were strong enough for it to be a no. “But we need to talk about a few things first.”

“We’ll talk about it?” Frank asks.

“Mhm.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, Frankie.”

Frank runs a thumb over Mikey’s--Frank’s--bottom lip. “Can it wait?” he asks. Mikey sucks the thumb into his mouth, and Frank takes that as a yes.

They actually make it to the bunks this time. They fuck in Mikey’s because,” Barnabas has never seen me having sex, and I don’t want him to start now.”

“What is with that bear?” Frank asks between kissing Mikey’s--his own--exposed shoulder.

“Gee got him for me when we were kids,” Mikey answers. Frank doesn’t ask any more questions after that, just tells Mikey to get his pretty ass into bed; Frank fully realizes the connotation of that statement given their current circumstances. Mikey chooses not to address it.

\----

Frank is happy, boneless and satisfied. Mikey put his boxers back on, but Frank has opted to stay naked. The other man is a warm line up his right side, nestled under his chin and breathing evenly. Frank loves everything about this situation; he almost doesn’t want to disturb it, almost.

“Mikes,” he says. Mikey makes a happy humming noise in response. “You said we needed to talk,” Frank reminds him. Mikey groans against Frank’s skin.

“Do we have to? Why can’t we just keep pretending everything’s fine?”

“You promised,” Frank reminds him. Mikey groans again.

“Frankie,” he says, but doesn't say anything after it. He wonders when the others will be back, briefly hopes the answer is ‘soon’ so that they can save him from this situation.

“Mikey,” Frank says back in the same tone. Mikey sighs and moves away from Frank’s side. There's really not enough room in the bunk for them to lie shoulder to shoulder. Mikey lies on his side, propped up on his elbow, and speaks.

“I can't date you,” he says. Frank takes a sharp breath. “I mean, I can't date _just_ you.” It’s one of the rules, one of the rules that Mikey has already talked Gerard in to bending for him and Pete. This is different, though. Gerard’s been falling in and out of love with Frank from afar for _years._ It’d kill him that Mikey got there first without telling him. “I’m already--”

Frank sits up, sits cross-legged and hunched over. “Is this about Pete?” he asks, and Mikey huffs. It’s never about Pete. Why can no one ever see that? Pete is a good friend, and he deserves someone who will help him. Mikey wishes people would stop falling in love with him.

“No,” Mikey answers. He adopts the same posture as Frank. They sit across from each other in the bunk, each man looking down at the sheets. Frank is regretting not putting boxers back on; he feels overly exposed.“It's not about Pete; it was never about _Pete_.”

“Then what _is_ it about?”

“It's about Gerard!” Mikey snaps at him (, and so much for it not being his secret to tell.) It's always about Gerard. The two of them are so wrapped up in each other; how could anything _not_ be about Gerard?

Frank blinks stupidly over at him. The bunk is dim, and Mikey is glad for that. It means Frank can't see him nervously scratching at his skin with a thumbnail, can't fully see his face as he tries to come up with a lie.

“He needs me,” Mikey says. It's not a lie, not quite, but it's not the whole truth. This is the most honest he’s ever been in this situation. “He needs me, and I need him. We’ve never--never worked well totally separate, and if you want me you--you have to have him, too.”

Frank is silent for a moment, thinking. “Like, date both of you? At once?”

Mikey nods, and Frank wants to cry. He can picture it in his mind’s eye, himself, his body, sprawled on a couch. His head is in Mikey’s lap, and Mikey absently brushes his fingers over Frank’s skin while he watches the TV. Gerard, cross legged on the floor and hunched over a sketchbook, Frank has one arm hanging off the couch, toying with a bit of Gee’s hair. Gerard catches Frank’s hand and kisses it, then smiles at Frank. Frank can feel in his heart how much he _wants_ this.

He’s been so gone for these two for so long. He’ll take anything either of them are willing to give him, but both of them? Mikey is offering him something he hadn’t even dreamed of.  “I think I could do that,” he says finally. There's a noise in the front of the bus, then people’s voices.

“I should go,” Mikey says. Frank holds up his hand like he's going to say something, and as much as Mikey is an expert at running from his problems, he finds he doesn't really want to leave this conversation. “Later, okay?” he says, almost pleading.

“Okay, Mikey.”

\----

A blue plastic cup is dangled in front of Mikey’s eyes. Mikey looks up and sees his own face looking down at him. “I bring a peace offering,” Frank says.

Mikey takes the cup, takes a drink. It tastes awful, but he’s pretty sure it has alcohol. He’ll live. Whatever is in the cup is warm. Everything is fucking _warm_.

It's been a few hours since Bob and Ray almost caught them with their pants around their ankles. “Is this appropriately ‘later?’” Frank asks.

Mikey thinks it is; he pats the ground next to him. Frank drops down beside him. It's mid afternoon, and the sun is sweltering. Pete probably has his shirt off, and Mikey hates that he’s thinking that. They're taking what refuge they can in the shade of the bus. Warped is once again in full swing in the distance, but they don't play until five.

“You wanna do this here?” Mikey asks, looking around at all the other people milling about.

“Nobody’s listening to us,” Frank answers. Mikey shrugs, and Frank takes it as the go-ahead. “So about--about the whole,” Frank is struggling to put the concept into words. It’s been all he could think about for the last several hours. One would think he’d be better prepared for this situation.

“About the whole you and Gerard thing,” he finally settles on,” how, exactly, would that work?”

Mikey takes a deep breath just to blow it out again. “I don't know,” he admits. He takes another drink just for something to do. “We haven't talked about it that much.”

“But you _have_ talked about it?” Frank presses. He wonders if they talked about him. He knows they pick up girls together sometimes; he wonders if they ever talked about doing it with him. He wonders if they saw how much he wants them, if he's even less subtle than he thought he was.

“There was this girl, Nina.” Mikey pauses for a moment, remembering, a small smile comes to his face. “Nina was the best thing that ever happened to us,” he says sincerely.

“What happened?” Frank asks.

Nina was a friend from work. Mikey had loved her; Gerard had thought she was okay. She thought Gerard’s artist gig was the coolest thing ever. She made sure Mikey ate ‘real food’ a couple times a week, and by extension she made sure Gerard did too. She had come to Mikey, said she’d been nursing a crush for months, and Mikey felt like God himself had smiled upon his existence. But, as it turned out, Nina didn't like to share.

“It didn't work out,” Mikey answers. He picks at his nails and doesn't say anything else.

“So why do you think it would work with me?”

“I honestly don't know if it will,” Mikey answers. “But Gee’s been gone for you since you two met, and living in a bus hasn't made him hate you. That's gotta count for something.”

Frank can’t help but smile. Gerard--as juvenile as it sounds--likes him back. “And what about you?” he asks Mikey. “What do you think of me?”

Mikey drums his foreignly tattooed fingers against his foreign thigh. He doesn't know what to say, really. He doesn't know what he thinks of Frank; he hasn't thought about him that much. Sure, he’s thought about his body. Mikey’s thought about how his back is oddly sensitive and how his fingers look so good wrapped around a dick. But he’s mostly been focused on keeping Frank alive and functioning.

“I don’t know.” He’s been saying that a lot lately. “You’re my friend. You’re good in bed.” Mikey shrugs. “That’s really all I’ve got.”

Frank narrows his eyes at Mikey. “And you’d be willing to date me, based on that?” He asks.

“Gerard likes you.” Both Gerard and Mikey are shitty at actual relationships. Pete counts for maybe half a relationship, and Gerard wears his heart on his sleeve so that others can steal it and crush it at will. Mikey’s been helping him put back together long enough to know that Gerard will fall in love with anyone who lets him, or doesn’t try too hard to stop him. Really, though, they’re each other’s only real experience in the area. “That’s good enough for me.”

Frank has a sudden realization. “You’d follow him anywhere,” he says,” to fame and fortune and addictions.”

Mikey huffs. “Yeah, well, it’s not a perfect system,” he says.

He thinks of all the times Gerard had climbed into Mikey’s bed or lap or bunk, half-naked and high off his ass, whispering against Mikey’s ear. “Mikes,” he always started with that,” Mikes, you have to try this.” He’d roll his hips against Mikey’s thigh or stomach or crotch, and Mikey would always say the same thing.

“What is it, Gee?” Sometimes Gerard would answer; sometimes he wouldn’t. Mikey always took it, and Gerard always sat on his dick so nice that he didn’t worry about it. Mikey never quite remembered the sex, he remembered it starting and he remembered it ending--usually with fireworks of neon colors going on in front of him or with the feeling of floating out of his own skin, but he could never quite remember it happening.

Here’s the thing, though. Gerard got clean; Mikey didn’t. Mikey will follow Gerard anywhere, but sometimes he doesn’t leave with him. He thinks, though, that he could apply that same principle to Frank. Gerard wants him, and Mikey can get Frank for him. All he has to do is the thing he’s best at.

“Well this was an enlightening conversation,” Frank says after a moment,” and yet I still have no idea where we stand.”

“It’s not my decision to make,” Mikey answers. He’d take Frank in a heartbeat. (He basically already has.) Mikey’s standards are buried in the ground with his sobriety. (He hopes if he waters them enough they’ll grow back.) “When we switch back, I’ll talk to Gerard about it.”

“Oh great, more fucking waiting,” Frank says,” My favorite.”

~~~~

Once, in the early van days, they'd been on a six hour drive from Nowhere, Pennsylvania, to The Middle of Nowhere, Ohio. And when you do that you have to entertain yourself.

“So what’s the weirdest sex you’ve ever had?” Frank had asked, popping up over the backseat to address the van at large.

Otter snorted and shook his head, refusing to answer. “What the fuck, Frankie?” Ray asked, turning around in his seat to look at Frank.

“Listen, if we’re gonna be in a band, it’s only fair we know each other’s secrets, right?”

“Next you’re gonna suggest that we all have a giant friendship orgy,” Mikey said.

Ray gestured between Mikey and Gee. “How would that work with you and Gerard?” he asked.

Gerard snorted, and Mikey shrugged. “Nothing we haven’t done before,” Gerard offered. The van jerked first right and then left as Otter took in that information.

“Wait what?” Ray asked, letting go of the side of the driver’s seat. He’d grabbed it to stabilize himself.

“Hold the fucking phone,” Frank said, flopping over the back of Mikey's seat and getting in his space. They had him sequestered in the very back seat. This, of course, had been before they'd learned that nothing would stop Frank Iero Jr. from disregarding all personal space laws. “So you two _have_ been in a giant friendship orgy before? Together?”

“Well when you say it like _that,”_ Mikey grumbled.

“It’s not an orgy if there’s only three people, Frankie,” Gerard added.

“Okay back the fuck up,” Frank said. “This is a story that needs to start from the fucking beginning.”

Mikey and Gerard proceeded to have one of their patented sibling conversations. They looked first at Frank, then at each other. Mikey raised an eyebrow; Gerard shrugged. Mikey shifted his eyes between himself and Gerard a few times, then looked pointedly at Frank; Gerard shrugged again. Frank was positively buzzing with anticipation.

"So I was fifteen," Mikey started.

"You were sixteen," Gerard corrected immediately. "You were fifteen when Sayra with a 'y' let you put your hands up her shirt; you're confusing them again."

"What do you want from me?" Mikey asked, indignant.

"Accuracy," was Gerard's reply.

"Fuck off."

"Guys! I wanna hear this story!" Frank whined.

"Anyway," Mikey obliged," so I'm _sixteen_. It's a Friday."

“Mikey had dragged me to this party that I didn’t want to go to,” Gerard said.

“You’re still bitchy about that? How?”

“I had plans!”

“And a threesome isn’t better than whatever you had planned?”

Ray was sending disbelieving glances at Frank, and Frank was simply gaping wide eyed at the two brothers. Otter seemed to be dead to the world, driving on autopilot.

Gerard opened his mouth as if to retort, then closed it a moment later. “Whatever,” he said.

“Right so it’s a Friday we’re at this party--and it was a shitty party, Gerard’s at least right there,” Mikey conceded. Gerard made an aborted ‘told you so’ motion.

“So I’m camped out on this couch in the middle of the party,” Gerard took over. ”It’s by the snacks that no one’s touching because they don’t have alcohol, and I’m probably the oldest person there, right?”

“Except for Raen ,’” Mikey cut in.

Gerard nodded like Mikey had just made an extremely good point. “Right, right. So Mikey has fucked off to god knows where--”

“I was talking,” Mikey corrected,” to my _friends._ Socializing, even.”

“You abandoned me,” Gerard said. Mikey rolled his eyes.

“I maintain that every action I made that night led to the end result. Really you should be thanking me,” he replied. Gerard stuck his tongue out at him.

“Ow, fuck!” he cried. The van had gone over a pothole, and Gerard had bit down on his tongue. Mikey laughed at his pain, like any younger sibling would. Ray, of course, was the concerned one.

“Are you okay,” he asked. He leaned forward like he wanted to check himself, but the seatbelt restrained him. “If you fuck up your mouth we can’t play.”

“I think I’m fine,” Gerard said, slurred around the finger he had poking at his tongue. “Is it bleeding?” He stuck it out again for an opinion.

“Oh my god, you’re an idiot,” Mikey said,” let me see.” He leaned over the merch box in the middle of the bench seat and grabbed Gerard’s tongue in his fingers. “Hold still you big baby, let me see.” He twisted it around and poked at the angry looking spot, redder than the rest of it.

“Is this where you bit it?” he asked. Gerard nodded slightly. “You’re fine, calm down. I don’t think you even broke the skin.” He let go of Gerard’s tongue and leaned back into his own seat. Gerard wrinkled his nose at him.

“So what happened next?” Frank demanded in the awkward silence that followed. He had started down this rabbit hole; he wanted resolution.

When it became apparent that Gerard was going to sulk and not answer, Mikey took over. “I’m not really sure what Gerard did, but next thing _I_ know, I’m upstairs looking for a bathroom, and I walk in on Gerard getting a motherfucking _blowjob_.”

“Yeah, and you _watched,”_ Gerard cut in.

“I did not! I politely apologized once I processed what was happening, and then tried to leave.”

“But?” Frank demanded.

“But Gerard apparently has a knack for getting in over his head with chicks, and she asked me to stay. I don’t think she knew we were brothers.”

“And if she did, she was weirder than I thought,” Gerard added. Mikey nodded along.

“So you just _agreed?”_ Ray asked.

“ _You_ have never been faced with a kinky drunk chick,” Gerard said.

“They’re very persuasive,” Mikey agreed.

“So Frank,” Ray asked,” are you happy with yourself now?”

Frank was still processing. “So you--how did that even _work?”_ he asked. “With the whole.” He made a vague hand gesture.

Mikey shrugged. “Not great,” he admitted. “We’ve streamlined the process over the years.”

"You--what?” Frank’s head was going to explode. “So is that, like, just something you two do now?" Frank asked.

Gerard shrugged. "Sometimes," Mikey had answered.

Sure enough, a few weeks later, still on tour but technically a different one, Frank saw it go down. Gerard went in first, and at first Frank was just watching because he had never _seen_ Gerard flirt. Of course not, because he's _Gerard._

Frank’s seen Mikey pick up girls from across the room via eyebrows, which really works in Mikey’s favor because the longer you talk to him the the less fuckable he becomes. But _Gerard--_ through years of knowing him, Frank had become partly convinced that the dude was some kind of celibate, artist hermit.

The place they were in was loud. They had a show there the next day, and had decided to scope the place out beforehand. The band was alright even if the sound quality wasn’t anything to write home about. The girl Gerard went after was three chairs away from Frank, but he couldn’t hear a thing.

Gerard’s technique seemed to be the ‘awkwardly endear yourself’ approach. The girl was wearing a Smashing Pumpkins shirt, and Frank had no doubt that Gerard had latched onto that as a conversation piece. He was probably asking if she’d seen them live, telling her about his own experience.

Frank made it through two beers while Gerard flirted with the girl. Near the end of the third one, she seemed much more receptive to him, laughing at whatever he was saying and talking back animatedly. That was when Mikey came in.

Mikey sidled up behind Gerard, draping his taller frame over his brother’s and making bedroom eyes at the girl. Gerard turned his head and saw that it was his brother, then made introductions. Mikey smiled at the girl, pausing at her shirt and probably making the same comments Gerard had made about it. They shared a brain sometimes; it was creepy.

The bartender brought Frank another beer, and when he looked back to the three, Mikey was running his hand along the girl’s upper arm and saying something. He twirled a piece of Gerard’s long hair in his other hand. Frank watched Mikey say something, ask the girl a question. She looked unsure, and Gerard spoke.

The two brothers spent one more beer talking to the girl. Frank gulped down the last of his fourth beer of the night and turned back to his chosen entertainment, only to find that they seemed to be leaving. The brothers each had one hand on either side of her waist, and Gerard was saying something into her ear. Frank was impressed.

So, the moral of this story is that Frank has been aware that the Ways are a bit odd. He’s known that they like to go just a little bit over blurring familial lines. What he hadn’t known is that they took some steel wool to those fucking lines and buffed them out of existence.

~~~~

Frank is going about his life. Minding his own business while in someone else’s body and sewing closed a hole that's getting big enough to be a danger to the structural integrity of his jeans. He’s been whistling “Sugar...” almost exclusively for three days, much to the distaste of Gerard.

He’s pulling the thread tight on a stitch when it hits him, a slideshow, a video feed, a _porno._ Images and scenes of Gerard getting fucked in every way imaginable are running through his head. Frank knows, can feel it deep in foreign bones, that this is Mikey’s fault.

He drops the needle and thread on the floor as he stands, the pants he was working on sliding off his lap. He walks to the bunk door and opens it, on autopilot mostly. When he drags open the curtain of his own bunk he’s expecting what he finds there.

Frank’s body is laid out, naked, in his bunk. Mikey has his right hand wrapped around his cock; he’s fucking his fist like he just discovered jerking off. Three fingers of his other hand are shoved in Mikey’s mouth, fucking his tongue to keep him quiet and get him off.

Part of Frank wants to lean down and suck his own cock, but another, louder part wants answers. “Mikey what the fuck?” he says. Mikey, who either hadn’t noticed or hadn’t cared about Frank opening the curtain, startled, hands freezing. The Gerard porno running through his head abruptly stops, and is replaced with a comfortable, warm feeling.  

“Hi Frankie,” Mikey says, his voice is breathy. “Mad I started without you?” he asked, smiling. “Can suck you off if you want.” The hand that was in his mouth starts kneading at the front of Frank’s boxers. (The jeans that he was wearing are on the floor by the couch with a needle attached to them.)

Frank momentarily loses his train of thought and moves his hips into Mikey’s hand. He thinks he could just let this happen, talk to Mikey after. But in the back of his mind the images are starting up again. This time they’re of what Frank knows to be himself in Mikey’s body.

“I think I can read your mind!” Frank blurts out. Mikey stop massaging his dick and looks up at Frank. Frank’s face is pinched, lip caught between his teeth as he looks down at Mikey. He can see on Mikey’s face when his mind cycles around to figure out what that means.

“Fuck,” Mikey says, hand receding back into the bunk. He curls in on himself a bit. “So you know--”

“There was Gerard porn in my head,” Frank cuts him off. He really doesn’t need to say anything else.

 _“Fuck,”_ Mikey says, with more feeling this time. He grabs Frank’s wrist in a death grip and stick his head out so they can make eye contact.  “Frank, you have to understand,” he says up at him. “Please. I need you of all people to understand us.”

“Mikey, I--”

“We’ve tried to stop. We have Frank, and we were both miserable. Frank,” Mikey grabs on to Frank’s other wrist and shakes them.

“Mikey,” Frank tries again. Mikey’s begging Frank for something that Frank would willingly give him if Mikey would just _stop talking._

Mikey does not stop talking. “You seemed okay when I was talking about you being with both of us; you didn’t seem upset. What’s changed? Please Frank, you have to--”

Mikey thought he’d left panic attacks in his old body, but he can feel this very steadily turning into one. Lord knows how Frank’s body will handle his lungs seizing up. Oh god, what if Mikey kills him. What if Mikey dies in Frank’s body, and then Frank will be stuck as Mikey forever. Or maybe Mikey will get sucked back into his own body and he will have literally killed Frank. Maybe they’ll both live in Mikey’s body and everyone will think that Mikey’s gone crazy from grief.

“Mikey!” Frank finally shouts, grabbing Mikey by the shoulders. He’s crouched down so he can look at Mikey at eye level. “Mikey, listen to me,” he says, Mikey stares, wide-eyed, back. “I’m not mad at you,” he says levelly. “You and Gerard are what? Fucking? Dating?” When Mikey doesn’t answer Frank continues. “I don’t care, Mikes. I really don’t.”

Mikey takes a few deep breaths and a few moments to process this. “You’re okay with it?” Mikey asks. “With us?” Frank nods, and Mikey wraps his arms around his neck and kisses him. Frank is actually perfect; Mikey knows this now. He pulls away but leaves his arms around Frank’s neck. “Gee’s gonna be so happy, Frankie,” he says.

“Are _you_ happy?” Frank asks.

Mikey actually pauses for a second and thinks, really thinks, about that question. Mikey is happy when he makes Gerard happy. For most of his life that’s where all of Mikey’s positive emotions have come from.

Mikey’s never wanted anything but to make his brother happy. Mikey never really _wanted_ to be famous, and he’s never wanted a family of his own (good lord no one trust him with a _child_ ). Gerard has always wanted things. Gerard wants to change the world, and Gerard wants to save lives, and Gerard wants to live happily ever after, and Gerard wants to be clean, and Gerard wants Frank to love him, and Gerard _wants_ . And when he _gets_ he makes this face at Mikey like the sun is shining specifically so that they can be there, experiencing that very moment, and that’s all Mikey’s ever wanted in life.

So Mikey thinks about what Frank’s just asked him. He really thinks about it. Frank has been his best friend for years. Frank is funny and smart and dedicated. Frank is a kickass guitarist, and he doesn’t make Mikey feel like shit for how broken he his. Frank--Frank makes Mikey _happy._

“Yeah, Frankie. I’m pretty happy,” Mikey says with a smile on his face. Frank grins back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know th@ was gross and fluffy but listn....listen.......the boys are Tired.....let them rest. they need it


	6. Two by Two

Gerard is in a shitty fucking mood. He’s been in a shitty fucking mood for two weeks now. Mikey is fucking someone else. He knows he is, because he would've crawled into Gerard’s bunk by now if he weren’t. Pete has been desperately asking after him every time he sees Gerard, and that’s a lot lately, so it can't be him.  Gerard may have an idea of who it _is,_ but he refuses to think it. It becomes too real when he thinks it.

All in all, his life is a crisis. All he wants to do is lie in bed and mope, but Ray has insisted that he do other things, like eat. So he eats and talks to Ray and people who aren’t the same four people he always talks to, and he actually feels a little better. He can't actually tell anyone what's bothering him, but they can all tell he’s upset and offer support.

So Mikey and Frank are getting closer, whatever. It's not the end of the world! Frank is Gerard best friend in the world! Mikey is Gerard’s brother; he loves him! Maybe Mikes just needs a little space. They've been together Mikey’s whole life; it's totally understandable that he would need some space. Frank is a hyperactive little shit; it’s no wonder he’s bouncing from favorite person to favorite person.

So what if Mikey used to come to Gerard for emotional support? So what if Frank used to kiss him back on stage? So what if Mikey put Barnabas Frank’s bunk? So what if Frank has stopped casually laying himself on Gerard when they're near each other? They’ll be fine; they're always fine.

Gerard and Ray walk back to the bus, arguing over who had the weirder friends in high school. Ray wins. Most of Gerard’s friends were nerds or Mikey’s friends, and while Mikey’s friends participated in a lot of underaged drinking, they weren't really _weird._ Ray knew a kid who had the preserved eyeball of his dead mother in a drawer next to his bed, so Ray wins.

They get back to the bus, and neither of them think twice about walking onto it without knocking. It's their bus. They used to have to worry about Mikey and Pete, but that seems to have passed for the meantime. They really should have knocked.

Mikey is sprawled on the bus couch, knees splayed wide. Frank is kneeling on the floor between Mikey’s knees, and he’s giving a really stellar blowjob. Mikey is chanting,” Fuck, fuck, fuck,” under his breath and thrusting his hips. Ray gets on first and sees this scene. His immediate response is to stick an arm out and bar Gerard from entering.

Gerard walks right into Ray’s arm. “What the fuck?” he asks.

The two on the couch haven't noticed them yet. Too wrapped up in what they're doing. Mikey has one arm slung over his eyes  and one hand in Frank’s hair. “You really don't wanna come in here,” Ray hisses, averting his eyes.

Gerard looks confused for a second, then rolls his eyes. “Like fuck I don't,” he says. Thinking that Mikey and Pete are back at it again, Gerard ducks under Ray’s hand and fully enters the bus. If Mikey is back to Pete again, then he’s getting back to normal. This is actually good news.

He is thinking this until he turns his head and actually sees what’s happening. This is most certainly not good news; Gerard would even go so far as to call it bad news. Mikey is supposed to be his. Frank is supposed to be his. He is all at once sad, betrayed, and angry.

“Mikey what the fuck?!” he shouts, fist clenched at his sides. Until now, it was just a thought, a vague inkling. Until now, he could dismiss it as his brain overreacting. Until now, he could claim plausible deniability that his brother was breaking his heart again.

Frank pulls off Mikey’s dick so fast he probably breaks the sound barrier. “Gee, I’m so sorry,” he’s saying before he’s even off Mikey’s cock. It hits Gerard in the gut, because that’s what Mikey says. That’s what Mikey always says when this happens, but Mikey is sitting silent, shellshocked, on the couch.

Gerard is looking solely at his brother. “I thought we had an agreement,” he says. He forces himself to speak--to breathe--around the lump in his throat. “I thought we had rules.”

Mikey stays silent, looking down at Frank. His dick is still out. “I’m so sorry,” Frank says again. Gerard ignores him and takes an angry step toward the pair, toward Mikey.

Ray steps between them. “Hey dude,” he says, hands up and trying to be calming,” calm down. I have no idea what’s happening, but it’s nothing we can’t--”

“Aren’t you going to answer me?!” Gerard says over him, pushing him to the side to make eye contact with his brother. Something is wrong; Mikey is never silent during this, never. “Aren’t you going to apologize for being a _whore?”_

“I--” Mikey starts to say, but he stops. He looks from Gerard to Frank, looking for guidance. It makes Gerard feel sick to his stomach.

“Fuck you,” he says. “ _Fuck you.”_ It doesn’t feel good. It doesn’t feel right to say those words to Mikey and mean it, but they’ve been so long coming. He’s done so much to deserve them. “And fuck you too, Frankie,” he adds, looking down at the other man. “I can’t believe you thought this was okay. Fuck you both.”

He turns and leave the bus, slamming the door as much as one can slam a bus door. Gerard starts walking. He doesn’t know where he’s walking to, but he needs to get away. He leaves Frank and Mikey to reap the consequences of what they’ve done.

\----

Mikey watches his brother leave in abject horror. He’s ruined everything. He’s ruined _everything._ “What the fuck was that about?” Ray asks, and Mikey breaks. He curls in on himself and starts bawling.

“Shit,” Frank says. He takes a moment to do his pants back up, then drops to the floor next to Mikey. He wraps his long arms around his friend’s trembling frame. “Mikey,” he coos, resting his chin on Mikey’s head. Mikey sobs harder. He wants to be Mikey again. He wants his brother. He wants everything to be okay. “Shh, shh, mikeyway, it’s okay,” Frank says into Mikey’s hair.

“What _the fuck_ is going on?” Ray asks again.

“Listen,” Frank snaps,”you could help by _leaving.”_

“Fine,” Ray says back. He leaves the bus. His exit is much less dramatic than Gerard’s. Frank sits down on the floor and pulls Mikey into his chest.

“It’ll be okay, Mikes. We’ll--it’ll be okay.” Mikey is used to empty platitudes when he’s having an (anxiety, manic, depressive) episode, but he’s _not_ having an episode right now. He’s not in his own fucking body, so the chemical imbalances can’t be fucking him over. They haven’t been for a two weeks now. The only thing fucking Mikey over lately has been Mikey.

“I’m so fucking shit,” he says, voice muffled against Frank’s chest.  Frank’s entire body _hurts_ . He can _feel_ everything Mikey is feeling right now. He hates himself, and he’s worthless, never does anything right, never gonna make it another year.

“Mikey,” Frank says again. He holds him tighter. It’s really all he can do right now.

\----

Gerard doesn’t know what to do or where he’s going. He’s ten feet from the bus when Ray come out, grabs his wrist and asks,” What just happened? Frankie is freaking out.”

“Good,” is all Gerard can manage to say. He should be. They both should be. Gerard leaves, and Ray doesn’t follow. He makes it far enough away to think he’s out of sight and earshot, then he slumps against the nearest bus and allows himself a moment of weakness. He lets himself cry.

The tears come big and wet. It’s the kind of crying that actors train themselves for years to do. The kind that should be closely followed--or even _preceded--_ by a humid summer thunderstorm. But no storm starts; no rain comes for him to hide in. There’s just Gerard and his tears and the dry fucking heat.

Gerard is angry. He’s so, so _angry._ He doesn’t know at who, if he’s angry at Frank or Mikey or himself, probably all three. It’s been at least five minutes since he leaned against this bus. He should move, doesn’t know where to go, but he starts walking.

He wanders between the buses, barely bothering to wipe his face. Later, he’ll swear it was coincidence that he ended up outside Fall Out Boy’s bus. It takes five knocks before the bus door opens. It’s little Patrick Stump who answers, the entire tour’s little brother. He needs a haircut.

“Is P--”Gerard stops, clears his throat, and tries again. “Is Pete here?” he asks, voice clearer. Patrick nods, taking in Gerard’s red eyes and messy appearance. “Can I come in?”

Patrick just steps aside to clear the path. Gerard climbs on the bus. He hears Patrick shut the door behind them as they both walk into the actual bus.

Pete is sprawled on the whole couch with a bag of potato chips in his lap. Andy is fiddling with his sticks on the floor, and Joe is nowhere to be seen. Pete looks up when Patrick and Gerard walk in.

“Gerard wants to talk to you,” Patrick announces to Pete, like Gerard needs some kind of harald.

“Oh, hey,” Pete says, pulling his hand out of the chip bag without grabbing any. He sits up on the couch, leaving room for Gerard to sit if he wants to. He doesn’t. “What’s up?”

Gerard’s not sure what he meant to do by coming here. He doesn’t know what he’s after. All he knows is that Pete is the only person who will even come close to properly understanding all the emotions that Gerard is feeling when he says,” Mikey’s been sleeping with Frank.”

Pete takes a sharp breath, hands balling into fists at his side. Andy stands up immediately after the words leave his mouth, and he and Patrick beat a hasty and strategic retreat to the outside world.

“How long?” Pete asks.

“I don’t know, two weeks, at least.” Gerard can’t stop wringing his hands, picking at the callouses on his fingers. “Maybe longer. I thought you should know.” That’s a lie. Gerard couldn’t give two shits about Pete and Mikey’s relationship, but he wants someone to hurt as much as he is right now.

“He fucking--I thought--I’m sorry,” Pete finally settles on. “I know Frank’s important to you.” Gerard almost laughs at that. Yeah, important. That sums it up pretty well. He finally takes a seat on the couch, assumes the patented Emotional Distress position of elbows-on-knees-head-in-hands.

“They’re leaving me,” he says toward the bus floor. “Mikey’s fucking dumping me for my best friend.” If Pete finds Gerard’s verbiage odd, he doesn’t comment on it.

“Fuck them,” Pete says, his answer to everything. “Fuck both of them.” Gerard doesn’t know what to say to that other than ‘I’ve been _trying,’_ so he doesn’t say anything. He pulls his knees up close to his chest and tucks his head against them. Nothing can hurt him if he can’t see it.

They sit like that, in silence for a moment, then Gerard starts crying again. It’s louder this time, drier; he’s crying with his whole body. He feels a warm hand on his back, and for a minute he can pretend it belongs to a pale, lanky bassist instead of a short, tan one.

Pete, for all that he’s definitely an asshole, doesn’t seem put out by a guy he’s not great friends with sobbing on his couch. Gerard will try to remember this, try to cut him a little more slack. “You gonna be okay?” he asks after Gerard has been quiet for a few minutes.

Gerard slowly raises his head. The light in the bus hurts his sensitive eyes now. He wipes his nose on his jeans. “Probably not.” He’ll play the show anyway. He freezes. Shit, their set. “What time is it?”

Pete narrows his eyes at the change of subject, but he checks his phone anyway. “Four thirty, why?”

“Shit,” Gerard says, standing up. He feels stiff, but there’s no time for that. “We play at four forty-five.”

Pete doesn’t even give Gerard an obligatory “Shit dude.” He takes about half a second to process what Gerard’s just said, then says,“Run,” and Gerard does.

\----

The show is shit. They’re goddamn professionals, and they weren’t going to cancel a show. Ray has to call back their substitute rhythm guitarist five minutes before the set starts though, because no one can fucking find Frank. He’s not answering his phone, not even for Mikey, who had his cock in him an hour prior.

Seeing Mikey hurts, makes Gerard want to throw up. It makes him want to drink. So, after they play their worst show in years, Gerard throws a few choice words at Mikey, decks him in the face, and then walks away. When one of the local bands offers him a beer five minutes later, he takes it, downs it in one go.

It’s a shock to his system. It’s been over a year since the last time he had alcohol, and it hits him _hard._ At the same time it’s like he never stopped, never got clean. The cramped bus and unbearable heat are still familiar, still welcoming. There’s a stereo playing somewhere, guitars and lyrics he can’t make out. He grabs another bottle from the cooler that someone has thoughtfully filled with ice and left outside.

Gerard is an alcoholic. A recovering alcoholic is still a fucking alcoholic, and Gerard is a goddamn alcoholic. More people show up throughout the night, drawn to the sound of people and the promise of a good time. More people bring more booze, and Gerard finds the hard shit like a hound after a fox. Halfway through that second beer he decided that he’s getting fucking smashed.

He’s got a bottle of shitty, cheap vodka in one hand that he’s been steadily nursing (and sharing. Gerard is nothing if not a giver.) He doesn’t remember where he got it from, but he’s talking to someone. They’re having a conversation he thinks. He doesn’t know what he says. He misses Mikey.

“You’re so pretty,” the man he’s talking to says. His face is blurry. They’re leaning against the side of a bus. Gerard is always against the side of a bus these days. The other man twists a piece of Gerard’s hair in his fingers. Gerard welcomes it, basking in the attention. “So, so pretty.” He leans toward Gerard, maybe to kiss him, maybe to say something. Gerard will never know either way, because the next second he’s turning and puking in the nearest trash can.

The stuff that comes back up out of his stomach is black like tar, and it smells worse. When he’s finished retching he stands up from his hunch over the can. No one has noticed him puking except, presumably, the guy he was talking to. Gerard looks around but can’t find him again.

People are walking past him, ignoring his existence. This is wrong. He shouldn’t be alone. His head’s clearer now; his teeth hurt. Mikey should be here, or Frank or Ray. He should leave. He needs someone, not them. It can’t be them, can’t be Mikey or Frank. He doesn’t know where Ray is.

The world takes a sudden tilt to the left, and Gerard whiteknuckles the metal can to keep himself upright. The stench is starting to hit him, and dry heaves again. He feels his ears pop, and then the world isn’t yelling at him from underwater. The ambient party noise is twice as loud and suddenly clear now; “Dance, Dance” is playing in the distance.

Gerard picks up his bottle off the ground and starts walking. Some of its contents sloshed onto the ground, so there’s only about an inch left in the bottom. It’ll do.

He walks for a while, can’t be more than ten minutes. It should've been closer to three, but he got lost a few times. By the time he’s standing outside Fall Out Boy’s bus for the second time that day, his mouth has gone stale, and he wants to wipe the rancid, vomit taste from it. He swigs the vodka and swishes it, figures the alcohol will kill germs or something, then spits it back out. He takes another swig for courage, and then he figures he might as well finish the bottle so he downs the rest.

Courage sufficiently inflated, he drops the bottle on the ground and marches toward the door and knocks. Andy opens the door this time. He looks surprised to see Gerard back here. “What do you want?” he asks, not maliciously. His voice is tired.

It takes Gerard a minute to process that and figure out how to express why he’s here. Want he wants to express is,” I’m an emotional wreck, and I’m relapsing hard. Help me.” but what actually comes out of his mouth is,” ‘M drunk. ‘Er’s Pete?”

Now that the door’s open, Gerard can hear someone, probably Patrick, shouting in the bus. He the only bit he can understand is, “You fucker!” Andy winces.

“Now’s not a great time,” he says in answer.

“Never is a great time,” Gerard says back. Andy looks at him, confused. His lip ring glints in the light, and Gerard wants to touch it with his tongue. “You’re pretty.”

Obviously deciding that he cannot, in good conscience, leave Gerard alone outside, Andy sighs and slumps. “Come in,” he says, defeated. Gerard stumbles his way onto the bus. Stairs are hard when you’re drunk. Handrails are for pussies.

They walk the few steps into the front room, Andy leading. He starts talking before they get in there.“ ‘Trick, I got another one to babysi--”

“You can’t just lock us all out of the bunks because a boy broke your heart!”  Patrick pounds on the door with both fists. Joe is lying on the floor, blocking most of the walking room and playing with one of Pete’s pill bottles from a small collection on the floor, watching the tablets slide around as he tilts it. There’s no response from the other side of the door, where Gerard assumes Pete is. A few seconds pass and then,” Let me in my bunk, you shit!”

Patrick starts whaling on the door again, and Andy rushes over to stop him. He almost tramples Joe’s dick and falls over in the process, but miraculously crosses the room and grabs both of Patrick’s wrist in his hands. “Stop that,” he says, tugging his hands down,” we need you to be able to play with these.”

Gerard is bad at standing. Standing is hard and not good, not a good thing for him to be doing right now. He spots the couch, thinks that's a good place to not stand, and tries to make his way there. He gets two steps in and trips on something that, upon further inspection, turns out to be Joe’s leg.

Gerard faceplants. Luckily it’s into the couch cushions, but Joe takes a knee to the stomach as he goes down. All the breath whooshes out of him, and he coughs when Gerard moves his leg up, laying himself across the couch.

“The fuck, dude?” Joe asks.

“S’ry,” Gerard mumbles back at him, curling up in a corner of the couch. Andy and Patrick are having a conversation. Patrick is speaking in quick, agitated bursts and Andy in calm reassurances. Gerard watches them, doing his best to follow the conversation.

Andy is holding Patrick by the shoulders, and he’s shaking in Andy’s grip. “--he locked the door before I could find all the bottles. He might be--Andy, he’s not answering; he might be--”

Andy moves one hand and cups Patrick’s cheek. “Calm down, okay? You got all the important ones,” he says. His voice is soft and comforting. “It’s gonna be alright.” Gerard almost believes him. “Go sit down. Make sure those two don’t kill themselves.” He jerks his head toward Gerard and Joe.

Patrick goes, his sobriety making it much easier for him to navigate the Joebsticle course in front of the couch. When patrick sits next to him Gerard looks over. Patrick’s pretty in a weird way. His hair is overgrown and sticking out of a hat pulled too far down; his face is cute and round and full of interesting angles. He radiates warmth. Gerard gravitates toward him. Alcohol makes him friendly, makes him have bad decisions making skills. He hears Andy rap lightly on the door a few times and start talking, but he’s not interested in that.

“Y’re warm,” Gerard says, leaning against Patrick. Patrick stiffens, unsure what to do with strange physical contact. Gerard wraps an arm around Patrick. He’s squishy in the middle in a way most guys Gerard’s slept with aren’t. “Nice,” he adds.

“Okay,” Patrick says. He tries to gently pry Gerard’s limbs off of himself, but Gerard is world octopus impression champ, so it doesn't work out too well. Eventually, Patrick sighs and allowed his new parasitic friend to remain.

Andy is still talking to the door when it opens, revealing Pete Wentz in all his disheveled glory. He’s been crying, black lines down his face giving him away even before his red eyes can.

“Long time, no see, G-man,” is a phrase that Pete will never say again after this night, but it makes him laugh in the moment. It’s not a real laugh, though. It’s broken and watery.

All of Gerard’s drunken exhaustion is gone, tiredness replaced with a weird buzzing at the sight of obvious grief before him. Pete is mourning his and Mikey’s relationship, and that makes Gerard’s skin crawl. Pete never should have _had_ a relationship with Mikey to begin with.

“Pete,” he says, standing as quickly as he can. He nearly faceplants but saves it at the last second. He positions himself safely in front of Joe. “You fucker.” It’s the clearest he’s enunciated all night.

Pete smiles. “Been getting that a lot tonight,” he says. “What did I do this time?”

“You fucking--fuck.” Words are hard. Gerard is expected to always have all the words for everything all the time, and it’s fucking _hard. “_ Fuck you.” Words are hard, and his knuckles ache from when he punched Mikey in the face earlier. He takes a few steps forward and swings with his other hand this time.

Fortunately for Pete, Gerard’s movements are slow and imprecise, and Andy grabs his arm before he makes any sort of contact. Gerard looks at his arm in confusion, sees that he’s been stopped. The fight drains from him.

“Mikey’s been fucking my best friend,” he says. His entire being droops. Andy lets go of his arm.  “And it’s your fucking fault!” He pokes Pete in the chest before his momentary anger fades.

Andy--looking like he’s about to strangle the next person who says some dramatic bullshit, pacifist ideology be damned--throws his arms in the air in surrender and goes to sit by Patrick h“How is this my fault?” Pete demands.

“Mikey,” is all Gerard manages. There’s so much more to say. Pete is an exception that Gerard let Mikey take. If Pete had never gone after Mikey, had _listened_ when Gerard said he should stay away, hadn’t been selfish for once in his goddamn life, then none of this would've happened. It’s Pete’s fault. It _has_ to be Pete’s fault, because it’s not Gerard’s fault. It can’t be Mikey’s fault. It can’t be.

“You got him--confused,” Gerard manages to stutter out. “He’s supposed to love me,” he adds quietly, desperately. “We were fine! He didn’t need you.”

Pete puts his hands up in defense. “Listen, it’s not my fault if he got tired of constantly being cockblocked by his big brother.”

“You fucker,” Gerard says. His diction is getting clearer the angrier he becomes. He lunges forward, grabs Pete by his shirt. He hovers over him, looking down at Pete’s face. He looks genuinely startled. “ Wha’s so great about you anyway?”

Pete breaks into a grin. “Dunno, you wanna find out?” He’s expecting Gerard to drop him, expecting a punch or a knee to the groin or some other angry gesture. Instead, Gerard growls and leans down to kiss him.

Pete stiffens for a second, then he fists the back of Gerard’s shirt and pulls him in. “Really, Pete?” Patrick shouts. Pete flips him off and pulls Gerard’s hair, making him moan. Patrick has been forced out of his own fucking bus a lot today, and it’s pissing him off. Why does _he_ have to be the one herding Joe off the bus. Why can’t he and Andy ever be the obnoxious ones. “We’re fucking in his bunk later,” he says when they’re off the bus. Andy snorts.


	7. An Ancient Love Being

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, guess who's back from the dead fuckers. been workin 5 days a week and sleeping the other two so sorry abt th@. hope this shitty writing makes up for it ✌✌ (i totally didn't forget to add this chapter to this version until just this moment shut up)

“Frank,” Ray pounds on the bunk door again, hoping it will yield different results. It doesn’t. He calls Frank’s name again, louder this time.

Mikey is on the couch, curled into a ball and looking like he’s trying to disappear. He was crying earlier, hyperventilating and clawing at his arms. Now he’s quiet, still but for the way his whole body is shaking. Ray could really use some help keeping this band together.

He hears the door bang open and footsteps onto the bus. As expected, when he turns he see Bob there. Any hope he may have elicited is snuffed out though because he’s alone. “You didn’t find him?” Ray asks.

“Nope,” Bob answers,” but I found someone who knew where he was.” 

“And where is he?”

Bob sucks in a breath and blows it back out, sticking his hands in his pockets and making a face like he’d really rather not think about it. “Apparently he’s,” Bob draws the word out, searching for a tactful way to say this. He does not find one. “He’s fucking Wentz on the Fall Out Boy bus.” 

Ray visibly deflates and slumps back against the door when he hears this. He leans his head back and stares at the ceiling. “This is a problem,” he says.

“That’s not the worst part,” Bob adds. Ray’s eyes widen in fear as he looks back at Bob. “He was drunk.” Bob winces after the words leave his mouth like they physically pain him.

Ray pushes himself away from the door. “I’m going to get him,” he says as he moves “ _ Just _ drunk?” he asks as he passes Bob. “That’s all?”

“Dunno; that’s all they said.”

“Great, just fucking great,” Ray says. “Watch those two, will you?” he calls over his shoulder as he exits the bus. Bob doesn’t get a chance to answer because Ray is walking away too fast, headed in the general direction of where he thinks the Fall Out Boy bus might be. He’ll ask someone on the way. 

“Where the fuck is Mikey?” Or he won’t. He stops walking and looks for the source of the voice. Gerard is walking toward him from a completely different direction than the one he was headed in. Either Ray was going the wrong way or Gerard got lost. Both options are equally likely.

Ray looks over his lead singer. There’s a sluggish quality to his movements and a lilt to his voice that Ray hasn’t experienced in almost a year. He’s drunk, and he smells a little bit like puke. Ray is so fucking glad he’s  _ alive _ . 

“Holy shit,” he says. He takes a few quick, large steps toward Gerard and grabs him in a hug. Gerard is too confused to fight it, and Ray figures it’s a pretty good way to keep him from doing something stupid. “Don’t scare us like that you fucking  _ ass.”  _

“I’m gonna kick ‘is ass,” Gerard says into Ray’s shoulder. He wraps his arms around his back and pulls him closer. God, Gerard really fucking needed a hug. “Then ’m gonna kick Frank’s ass.” He hesitates for a moment, thinking. “Then I’m gonna kick m’own ass for bein’ so fucking  _ stupid.”  _

Ray snorts and loosens his hold. He holds Gerard at arm’s length and looks him over. “Are you okay, dude? What the fuck? Pete? Tell me you didn’t. Tell me you didn’t fuck Peter Wentz.” 

“I didn’ fuck Peter Wentz,” Gerard says obediently. Ray sighs and closes his eyes against the real world for a moment. He’s staring at their shoes when he opens them again.

“Now say it like it’s  _ true _ .”

“You know I can’t lie when I’m drunk,” Gerard says. 

“Why is your entire family conspiring to break that man’s heart,” Ray says to the sky. He’s not expecting an answer, and Gerard doesn’t give him one beyond a shrug and a sniffle. “C’mon,” he slings an arm over Gerard’s shoulders,” let’s head back to the bus. I think we all need to have a talk.” 

It takes them less than a minute to get back to the bus, and it’s quiet as they enter. Bob isn’t banging on the door as Ray had been. He’s just sitting on the couch drinking a beer. Mikey has moved on to pacing a hole in the floor. “Frank’s not comin’ out,” Bob says as soon as they’re on the bus. Ray figured as much. Bob’s not good at resolving situations that don’t boil down to “I’m bigger than you, so I win” logistics. 

Gerard shoulders his way past Ray and further into the bus. “We could always break down the door,” Ray says. Bob rolls his eyes. Neither of them notice what Gerard's doing for those few seconds; they’re out of practice in babysitting his drunk ass. Gerard uses this to his advantage, and by the time Ray realizes his mistake, it’s too late. The damage is done.

Gerard’s breath hitches, a tiny, breathy,” Mikey,” passing through his lips when he sees his little brother. He is at once both relieved and angry. Mikey looks over, says Gerard’s name in surprise. He grabs Mikey by the shoulders and pushes him against the door to the bunks. “Mikey,” he says again. His hands come up to cup Mikey’s face, fingers stroking his cheekbones. “Mikey, mikeymikeymikeymikey,” he chants. His face moves closer to Mikey’s, lips parting slightly, and then they’re kissing each other for the first time in  _ weeks _ . It feels good, feels warm and soft and like coming home after tour, like sitting down after a long shift, like closing his eyes after not sleeping. 

Mikey stiffens, eyes darting to Ray, but Gerard pets his neck, moves his lips against his brother’s, and he relaxes. Mikey wraps his arms around Gerard’s waist, pulling him closer. They’re hugging and kissing, and Gerard wraps his arms around Mikey’s neck. Mikey sucks on Gerard’s bottom lip, and Gerard remembers why he always forgives him. He loves his baby brother more than he loves nicotine and the sound of rain and the rush of cool air when you walk into an air-conditioned building in the summer. 

“Gee,” Mikey says, voice breathy against Gerard’s mouth. He kisses Gerard again, and it feels like his first cigarette after his detox. It feels like finally being able to cry after keeping up appearances. It feels like coming home, and Gerard knows in that instant that he’s always going to take Mikey back, no matter what.

“What the fuck are we watching right now,” Bob says to Ray. Ray turns his wide eyes from the pair of brothers to Bob, who takes another sip of his beer. Ray walks over and sets himself down next to his bandmate. He extends his open hand, and Bob wordlessly hands the beer over, opens the fridge to get another.

\----

Mikey hears Frank calling for him, calling his name over and over again. He feels Gerard, warm and safe, in his arms, but he can’t see him, can’t find him. He knows his brother is there, knows Gerard needs him, but he just can’t get to him. He can’t reach either of them.

He opens his eyes, not sure when he’d closed them. They sting, and there are crusty, dried tears all along his face. He brings his hands up to his eyes and rubs them, trying to get some moisture back; he drops Barnabas in the process, the bear landing on the mattress next to him. His head is filled with a pulsating, other entity that he’s vaguely identified as Frank in the last few days. It’s screaming at him. 

His body acts before he really thinks about it, and he’s standing and at the door to the front of the bus without really knowing how he got there. There are voices outside, and light is filtering in from under the door. It’s dark in here, quiet, safe. He doesn’t want to leave. He wants to go back to his bunk and wallow in his own misery; he wants to fucking  _ die.  _ The only thing stopping him is that Frank moved his fucking pills. He turns the doorknob without really wanting to. It unlocks automatically when turned from the inside, and the door is unlatched and swinging open before Mikey has a chance to stop himself. 

Frank stumbles backwards as the solid surface behind him swings inward. Gerard holds himself steady enough for Frank to keep himself upright with the hands around his waist. Gerard backs up so that Frank can turn and see Mikey standing in the doorway. He looks fuckin ragged, but Frank is relieved beyond words that he’s still  _ alive. _

“Gee,” Mikey says when his eyes land on his brother. He’s rumpled and smelly and gross and  _ here _ . “Gee, baby.” Mikey reaches out to touch him, run his hand along the skin of his arm, feel how warm and alive he is.

“Frankie,” Gerard says back. He’s a bit confused by the petname, but when the hand running down his arm reaches his hand, he allows the fingers to lace with his. He’s sluggish and affectionate with alcohol.

“Mikey,” Gerard says, and for a moment, a fraction of a second, Mikey thinks that he’s figured it out, that he can tell it’s his baby brother just from the petname, the inflection, the soft touch. Then Gerard pulls his hand away and looks at Frank. “Mikes, did y’tell him?” he asks. His voice is small and anxious.

“Yes,” Mikey says, and Gerard looks back to him, eyes wide. Mikey tries to smile reassuringly, but he’s not sure how well it works. He knows the exact look he needs to give Gerard with his own face, but Frank’s is different. “Gee, we need to talk.” 

“Frankie,” Gerard says. He reaches out then lets his hand drop back to his side, unsure what to do with it. “’S so much--”

Mikey reaches out and grabs Gerard’s hand in both of his before it’s back against him. “I’m not Frankie,” he blurts out. He hears Ray splutter on the couch, and Gerard’s eyebrows make a valiant effort to leave the earth’s gravitational field. “I’m not Frank, Gee,” he says again.

“What?” Gerard asks. Really, what else could be expected of him? In his current state being upright, coherent, and verbal is a fucking gold medal performance.

“I’m not Frank, and  _ he’s  _ not Mikey.” He lets go of Gerard’s hand with one of his and points at Frank. “ _ I’m  _ Mikey.”

“Aaaaand you’ve  _ lost it _ . Okay folks,” Ray stands up from the couch and sets his bottle on the floor,” that’s my threshold for fuckery today. C’mon, Gerard, you and Mikey go talk. Frank,” he puts an arm on Mikey’s shoulder and tries to lead him away,” let’s get you something neither alcoholic nor narcotic.” 

“I’m not fucking high!” Mikey shouts, begging someone to believe him. “And I’m not Frank!” He tries to jerk away from Ray and ends up stumbling back, hitting his head on the door frame. 

“Ow!” Mikey and Frank both exclaim at once. Frank’s hand lurches up to clutch at the spot on his head where Mikey had hit his own. Ray looks at Mikey then at Frank then at Gerard. Gerard looks at Mikey then at Frank then at Mikey again, but this time with furrowed eyebrows. “Fuck that hurt,” Mikey and Frank say. “What the hell?"

“What the fuck is happening right now?” Ray says, to the room at large and, possibly, even to God himself. 

“I’m Mikey!” Mikey shouts. “Gee, baby, please,” he grabs Gerard by the upper arms with both hands,” you gotta--I--I slept with Frank.”

“Okay, yeah, got that,” Gerard says slowly. He looks over Mikey’s face, like if he looks long enough the nose will change shape and the jawline will sharpen. 

“No, no, I mean--before, before this all started, two weeks ago? Three? That night at the hotel, that fight--I fucked up, Gee. I fucked up real bad. You told me no, and I still--” Mikey cuts himself off. His face is hot and his eyes are burning, ready to cry. He needs to take a moment and get his thoughts in order before he goes on. “I’m sorry,” he says reflexively.

“Can we start from the beginning here?” Ray asks. They all look to him. “The very beginning,” he continues,” like, the beginning where Gerard came in here and started macking on Mikey-who-is-Frank-apparently? Because I’d really like to understand what the living fuck is happening right now.” 

“Can you and Bob just-just go away? For a while?” Frank asks. “I think we need a minute.”

“ _ You  _ need a minute?” Bob asks in disbelief. 

“C’mon.” Ray grabs Bob by the collar and starts walking. He’s known Mikey long enough to have lived through some of his breakups. This isn’t something he wants to risk interfering with. He lets go of Bob’s collar, and they both obediently shuffle off of the bus.

“Gee,” Mikey says when they’re gone. “Gee, pretty.” He moves one hand up, cups Gerard’s cheek. “I’ve missed you so much. I--” He snorts; this is possibly the stupidest thing he’s ever laughed at. “I want to hug you, but I’m too short to do it the right way.” His voice breaks, watery, on those last few words. He blinks and a single tear rolls down either side of his face. “I missed you so much.”

Like floodgates, like a zit, like an expired condom, the barrier holding Mikey back breaks down, and so does he. “What if we don’t change back?” he asks through tears. “What if we’re stuck? What if-wh-wha-what if I-what if I broke every-everything?” He’s hiccuping now, stuttering and sniffling. “What if I don’t ever get to hold you again, Gee?” he whispers, since it’s the only way his voice doesn’t break.

“Oh, Mikey,” Gerard says, finally seeing his little brother in the broken human before him. “Mikey, mikeymikeymikey, c’mere.” He gathers Mikey into his arms, wrapping him securely in warmth and affection. “Y’fucked up,” he says softly into familiar-but-not-right hair. Mikey sobs. “You did, and I’m not gonna--not gonna to pretend you didn’t.” Stringing words together is a challenge, but Gerard is managing. “You broke the goddamn rules, Mikes.” 

“I  _ know.  _ I’m so so-sorry.”

“I helped,” Frank offers from the side. He’s not sure where he fits into this emotional conversation, but he definitely does somehow. By god is he gonna figure it out. Gerard turns his head to look at Frank. “I mean I-I slept with him. Even though he’s your brother, I still did. I knew it’d upset you.” He looks down at the floor, scuffs his shoe against the carpet. “I kinda hoped it’d make you jealous,” he admits. He looks up to gauge Gerard’s reaction. He thinks it’s mostly disbelief. “I mean, I also really wanted to bang Mikey--have you seen this?” He gestures to the body he currently inhabits.

“You’re really not helping,” comes Mikey’s (Frank’s) weak voice, muffled even more by Gerard’s chest. Gerard snorts.

“What I’m trying to say,” Frank continues, frantically trying to pull his foot out of his mouth,” is that you shouldn’t  _ just _ blame Mikey. I knew it was a bad idea, and I still agreed.” 

“Frankie,” Gerard says. He peels one arm off of Mikey’s back and extends it toward him. “C’mere.” He wiggles his fingers, and Frank cautiously steps forward. Gerard grabs him, pulls him into the hug. Frank wraps his too-long arms around both of them, and Mikey is clinging to their shirts with both hands like a toddler.

“We’ll talk more, later,” Gerard says after a few moments,” after you--you--go back. Which you  _ will do. _ ” He says it like he himself will grab Satan by the balls, if he has to, to put their minds right. Mikey believes him.

They stay like that, wrapped in each other in a way that would be unbearable were it not for the bus’s blessed air conditioning, for a little while longer. It’s really much too long for a hug, but none of them really want to break it up. They separate only when Frank starts giggling. “We’re gonna have to tell the guys that you two’ve been fuckin’,” he explains through giggles. “God, imagine Bob’s  _ face.” _

\----

Frank and Mikey stand in front of the couch where Bob, Gerard, and Ray have all gathered. Like some kind of bastardized family meeting, they’ve sat them down in the living room to have a talk. Unanimously, they’d decided that having a full band meeting ASAP was more important than ironing out exact specifics of what their relationship is right now. 

“So, from the beginning,” Mikey says,” yeah, okay.” He takes a deep breath and prepares for the burned bridges that Pete writes so often about. He wants to reach out, always imagined Gerard and himself delivering the information to the rest of the band with their hands clasped in each other’s, but Mikey Way is good at nothing if he’s not good at ruining things for himself. “So, Gerard and I fuck, each other, a lot, since I was sixteen.”

Bob’s eyes widen and start darting around the room frantically. “I swear to god if there’s a camera in this fucking room I will--”

“It’s not a joke, Bob,” Gerard says. He’s got his knees pulled up to his chest so that he can bury his face in them. His selective exhibitionism doesn’t extend to situations like this.

“So, wait,” Ray says,”  _ you’re  _ Mikey in Frank’s body,” Mikey nods,” and  _ you _ , Mikey, in Mikey’s body, have been incestuously  taking it up the ass from your big brother since sophomore year. Do I have that right?” Gerard, who has been slowly curling in on himself the whole time Ray spoke, starts groaning into his knees. 

“I mean not exactly that way, but pretty much yeah,” Mikey says.

“So all the times you shared rooms--”

“Yeah.”

“and when you picked up girls together--”

“Yeah.”

“and when you locked us out of the van, and--”

“Yeah, Ray, Gerard and I have had gay sex on almost every conceivable surface, including where you’re sitting right now. Are you done?” Ray shuts his mouth and nods. He’s still overwhelmed with morbid curiosity, but he’ll probably have to learn to live with it. 

“I need another drink,” Bob says.

“So do I,” Gerard mumbles miserably. Ray swats him in the arm. “Ow, fuck you.” Gerard hits him back. 

“You’re on detox watch again,” Ray tells him. A realizations hits. “All those times when Mikey was with you the first time--”

“Yes, Ray,” Mikey cuts him off before he can get started again. “I sucked his fucking dick so he would settle the hell down, is that what you wanted to hear?” Ray doesn’t really know how to answer that, because the answer is  _ yes.  _ He’s going to have to take a good long look at himself on a later date. Frank makes eye contact with him, and they share some type of look that Ray thinks means he understands.

“What’re you guys gonna do?” a voice asks from the Gerard-ball on the corner of the couch. He sounds so scared to even be asking the question, and Mikey can’t take it. He moves the scant feet to be touching Gerard, sets a hand on his back and rubs circles with his thumb. 

“Nothing,” he says firmly. He crouches down, gets his head close to Gerard’s. Suddenly he’s seventeen again, and there’s a man muttering to his wife about having to share the train car with faggots.  “They’re not gonna do anything, Gee. I won’t let them.” Gerard leans into Mikey’s side. The way he fits there is familiar, even if he seems bigger now.

“Dude, you’re being super dramatic right now,” Ray says,” I don’t think any of us are gonna, like--what even? File a police report? Beat you up?”

“Bob might do that,” Frank says,” but probably just because you looked at him wrong.” Bob shrugs.

Gerard barks out a laugh and relaxes a little in Mikey’s arms. “Do you know how scared we’ve been?” he asks. “You can’t really get a feel for the way someone will react to this.” 

“Well, Bob and Frank don’t really have a frame of reference,”Ray reasons. All the others look at him. His eyes widen. “ _ I’d _ never fuck either of my brothers,” he adds hastily,” but my brothers don’t look like you two, so, like, I  _ get _ it. I guess.”

“Can we move on to the part where you two Freaky Friday’ed each other?” Bob asks, gesturing to Mikey and Frank. “I’ve heard enough about all...this.” He waves his hand vaguely at the Ways.

“Right,” Mikey says. He stands, squeezing Gerard’s shoulder as he steps away. “Uh, that’s actually both more and less complicated to explain? We slept together--which I am  _ still _ sorry about,” he adds, looking at Gerard.

“Your apologies have a greatly diminishing marginal value, Mikes,” Gerard says. Mikey’s heart aches to change the past, change himself. Gerard squeezes his hand, offers him a weak smile. “But I think I can use one more.” 

Mikey’s breath rushes out of him, and he closes his eyes, says a silent thank you to whatever deity is looking out for him. “I’m gonna change,” he says, and he swears to himself that it won’t be just another broken promise. Gerard smiles up at him, and Mikey swears harder. 

“We still have no explanation,” Bob points out.

“Yeah, as far as we can tell there isn’t one,” Frank says. “Uh, we can also read each others’ minds?” he offers.

“I’m so fuckin done,” Bob mutters. “Fucking emo-ass black magic, pissed off a goddamn demon--God’s fuckin’ angry at us or some shit.”

“Is that all?” Ray asks. Frank and Mikey give him matching confused looks. “Earlier, you--Mikey hit his head, and Frank acted like it hurt him, too.”

“Shit,” Frank hisses,” you’re right.” Before anyone can react, Bob leans forward and flicks the back of Frank’s hand. “Ow!” Frank and Mikey both say, jerking their hands away. 

“Holy fuck.”

“Okay, that’s definitely new,” Mikey says.

“Pretty sure we would'a noticed before now,” Frank agrees. He reaches out and runs his finger along Mikey’s arm, and feels the ghost of his own touch. “This is so fucking trippy.” His finger keeps moving. “Dude,” he says, looking down at Mikey, wide-eyed,” we gotta fuck. Ow, what the fuck?”

Mikey rubs at his shoulder where the phantom pain of the slap he just landed on Frank is. “Okay, sorry, that was much harder than I meant it to be, but Frankie, what the hell? Not the time.”

“Something else I don’t get,” Ray interjects,”is if this is some overarching plot bodyswap bullshit, which fucking moral do you guys need to learn before you’re switched back?” 

“All of them, probably,” Mikey admits. “I’m not really a shining example of a good human being.” 

“None of us are, though,” Bob says. “I’m a complete asshole; why didn’t it happen to me and Ray?”

“Because Ray is a literal angel,” Gerard says,” and also you didn’t fuck him. I get the feeling that part is sort of important.” Bob nods and shrugs.

“Fair enough.”

“Is this some kind of infidelity curse,” Mikey says, eyes going wide. Frank snorts. “No, no, think about it,” he says, thumping his hand against Frank’s chest. “That makes, like, total sense right? I cheated on Gerard one too many times, and some kind of ancient love being got pissed at me.” The room is silent save for the sound of cloth sliding against itself as the three men on the couch all shift to give each other disbelieving looks.

“That’s the most batshit insane thing I’ve ever heard anyone say,” Frank deadpans,” and I’ve popped pills with him.” He jerks his thumb at Gerard. 

Mikey throws his hands up in the air. “You are in my body,” he reminds the room,” our consciousnesses or souls or some shit got swapped around, and you’re telling me you  _ don’t _ think some kind of supernatural shit?”

“He--no, yeah, he has a point,” Ray says.

“Definitely some kind of spirit shit,” Bob agrees. Frank rolls his eyes when Gerard starts nodding his head earnestly.

“So how do we fix it?” Frank asks. “Cause waiting hasn’t worked, and the longer this goes on the more fuckin weird symptoms emerge.”

“Have you tried fucking Gerard?” Ray asks. Bob elbows him in the ribs. “Fuck, ow--no I’m serious! If you think, like, fucking other, not Gerard people is the problem, then maybe? That, or like, emotional makeup sex?”

“‘Healthy communication‘ is the phrase there, I think,” Frank says.

“Like they know anything about that. They’re barely functioning adults.”

“Hey!” Gerard protests,” I’m in an internationally famous rock band. I think I’m pretty damn functional.”

“If ‘functional’ was a prerequisite for rock stardom, I don’t think the genre would exist,” Ray says at the same time that Bob points out, “You’re a relapsing alcoholic.”

“Fine, why don’t we all just list off everyone’s problems,” Gerard mutters. He stands and crosses his arms. “I don’t want to associate with you two anymore if you’re just gonna shit on me.”

“C’mon this isn’t helping,” Mikey says. “I think Ray’s idea makes sense. Maybe we should fuck Gee.”

“‘We’?” Gerard squeaks. Mikey waves a hand between himself and Frank. “Oh, for some reason I thought you meant the whole band.” Bob chokes on his own spit at that.

“No, no, no thank you--no. No,” he says firmly, once his voice is back. Ray says nothing. “You three can do this weird science experiment yourselves.”

“This is gonna be so awesome,” Frank says.He prances over and hangs off of Gerard’s shoulder. “Gee, Gee,” he says,” we’re gonna fuck your brains out, for  _ science.” _

Mikey snorts, and Gerard’s face goes red. “For Christ’s sake,” Bob groans. Frank sticks his tongue out at him. Then, there are several moments of silence where a dawning realization sweeps over the whole band.

“Not on the bus!” Ray exclaims. 

“Aw, c’mon Ray,” Frank whines. “What if we give you guys advanced notice?”

“That’s just more time for me to figure out how I’m gonna beat your ass,” Bob says. Frank pouts at him. 

“We’re putting down an absolute ban on all fucking on this bus,” Ray gestures broadly to said bus,” from here until then end of time. No threesomes on this bus.” He taps Bob lightly on the chest with the back of his hand. “Bob, back me up on this.”

“No threesomes on the bus,” Bob readily agrees. “Or two-somes, or jacking off on the couch.”

“So what, you want us to have an orgy on the lawn?” Frank asks. “ The media won’t have a field day with that or anything.”

“Oh shut up,” Bob says. “ We have another off day in two days.”

“It’ll give you time to sort yourselves out like adults,” Ray adds. Frank rolls his eyes, and Mikey raises one eyebrow. “You can’t fix all your problems by putting your dick in them.”

“We can try,” Frank insists.

“Okay, this conversation is going nowhere,” Mikey finally cuts in. “We have a plan now, and we’re all on the same page. Band meeting adjourned.”

“That means we should leave, I think,” Ray stage whispers to Bob,” and let them have emotional talks without us.” He starts to stand even as he’s speaking. Bob nods and follows suit. “No fucking!” Ray calls back over his shoulder as he and Bob shuffle off the bus again. There’s a chorus of affirmative noises after, so he assumes they’re probably going to listen. Probably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on tumblr [@preblematic](http://preblematic.tumblr.com) for updates in the next seven months it takes me to update


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